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CONFLICT 


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CONFLICT 


CONSTANCE SMEDLEY <b^JA 

Author of "An April Princess,” "For Heart-o’-Gold” it 


New York 

MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 


UBB^RYofOeNeRESs] 
IWbUot>k^ fSwcsived 


FEb 2? *907 



Copyright, 1907, by 
MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 
New York 


Published , February , 1Q07 




THE PREMIER PRESS 
NEW YORK 


PREFACE 


It is always difficult to express thanks to one's birth- 
place for the qualities it bestows upon its citizens 
without seeming to call attention to the possession of 
those qualities. Yet as Birmingham does not bestow on 
its inhabitants the handicap of diffidence , I can un- 
abashed confront this obstacle. 

For Birmingham has a magnificently stimulating 
atmosphere which endows its citizens with qualities 
which we translate as confidence and hope and high 
ambition. 

It is true , those who live outside that city may sneer 
at us as being cocksure , ignorant and insufferably 
conceited: but Birmingham brings us up with too sure 
belief in ourselves to let other folks' opinions trouble us. 

And so, my city, I write a grateful eulogy of all those 
qualities you give your citizens. From the heart of the 
Midlands you send them forth into the world, surely 
and strongly equipped for the world-struggle. From 
early childhood they have breathed the spirit of 


VI 


PREFACE 


endeavour , incessant , always building , always making 
better , always confident. We see those citizens who 
rise to the heights of merchant princes devoting time 
and brain and fortune to the making and perfecting of 
their city: from the smoky bustling plain of commerce 
rise splendid Law Courts , Hospitals and Public Build- 
ings, surmounted now by the great University , the 
finest flower of toil. And still we triumph in the fact 
that the Birmingham of to-day will be nothing to the 
Birmingham of to-morrow: for our city is the dearest 
ideal of those who live in it: and the pride of our city 
rises high in the hearts of those who issue from it. 

Therefore , in gratitude for the cock-sure courage , 
the unlimited ambition , the aggressive endeavour, with 
which the city teems, a common heritage for those who 
spring from it I raise a small pecan of acknowledgment. 

And because I love my heroine, I could think of no 
better city to produce her; and no better fate that could 
befall her than to go back to the work of city-making. 

November, 1906. 


CONFLICT 

































































t 








CONFLICT 


CHAPTER I 

“ A man may pay too dearly for his livelihood.” 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 

The click-click of the typewriter sounded in the 
distance. Overhead, the chill light of a late March 
afternoon filtered in through two closed and grubby 
skylights, while the fumes of a gas-fire lent added 
oppression to the atmosphere. A clerk was checking 
invoices with methodical swiftness: he was the only 
tenant of a room which bore the stamp of a private 
office. The roll-top desk, arm-chair, and safe gave 
importance to its stuffy smallness. 

Presently the door flew open with a bang, and a 
stenographer appeared with a handful of letters. She 
was a smart young woman in a fussy waist and trim 
short skirt, and she carried the letters to the desk 
with provocative assurance. 

“Miss van Heyten out?” 

“Yes. She’s gone up to Mr. Berryfield’s.” 

“Is he better?” 

“Not that I know of. He’s an old man, you know: 
seventy if he’s a day. You don’t get pneumonia at 
that age without trouble.” 

“Oh, Mr. Berryfield’ll last us all out!” The girl 
swung round with a pert toss of her head. “They 
say he’s never missed being at the office at nine, for 
fifty years — wet or fine — till this knock out. Just 
think ! Fifty years of drudgery.” 


4 


CONFLICT 


“Exactly. And it’s telling now. Eve always said — 
when the governor does jack up, he’ll go out altogether. 
He’s been living on his capital. No reserve fund.” 

“It does seem funny without him, don’t it? I can’t 
stand seeing Miss Hey ten strutting about as if the 
place belonged to her. How Mr. Berryfield can think 
so much of her I can’t imagine. She’s such a dowdy.” 

Miss Beet approached the little looking-glass which 
hung below the three pegs on the wall, and arranged 
her tie complacently. 

Her companion continued his work without much 
attention to the radiant vision in front of him. He 
was used to Miss Beet’s coquetries. Office work has 
a dulling effect on the sensibilities. 

“She’s a good worker,” he remarked. 

“Oh, it makes me sick to see her staying here when 
everybody else has gone! You’d think she lived on 
office-work. It’s most unnatural. She’s only twenty- 
four, which is very young as girls go now-a-days. 
Why, one’s not on the shelf at twenty-nine, and we’ll 
soon be owning up to thirty. It’s seventeen that’s 
passee now-a-days. Funny, isn’t it, how fashions 
change?” Miss Beet twisted round, trying to get a 
good view of her back in the small compass behind 
her. “Though it’s extraordinary how blouses last,” 
she murmured pensively. “I don’t believe they’ll 
ever go out, do you? By the bye, if anything happens 
to Mr. Berryfield, we shall have to go into black !” 

The thought was voiced with a fitting gravity. Her 
new pink blouse was very dear to Miss Beet’s emotional 
young heart. Her hearer did not encourage sentiment. 

“I don’t hold with mourning,” he said tersely. 

“But it’s such an old firm!” returned Miss Beet, 
now wallowing in pensive forecast. “I think it’s the 
least that we can do, especially if we’re remembered. 
He’s just the sort to leave a mourning ring all round. 
I should think Miss van Heyten’s certain to get some- 
thing. It isn’t as if he’d any family. He has nothing 


CONFLICT 5 

but the business to take interest in. You mark my 
words, he’ll think of us !” 

Miss Bett’s hopeful imaginings stopped inconse- 
quently. The door had opened again, and a young 
girl was entering. It could not be claimed that Mary 
van Heyten was an attractive figure. Her features 
were finely and firmly moulded, and she had beautiful 
grey eyes, very frank and intense : but the slight form 
was hidden in garments of shapeless cut and discordant 
colour, a green bodice sandwiched on to a brown 
skirt, and surmounted by an old-fashioned black 
jacket which matched her sailor hat. As she walked 
her skirt dragged unevenly, and it could be seen that 
her gloves were full of holes and her boots were clumsy 
and needed blacking. It was obvious that Miss van 
Heyten had not only no taste for dress but apparently 
no time for it. 

And yet there was a verve in the poise of her head 
and an assurance in her carriage which commanded 
instant attention. She did not droop; her gait had a 
spirited air which was almost a swagger. She was so 
unconscious of the defects of her appearance that even 
Miss Beet did not dare to sneer at it. 

The door closed behind her, and she stood pulling 
the hat-pins from her hat in preoccupation. Her hair, 
pushed back into a loose knot, lacked even the saving 
grace of tidiness. Her brow was creased into a deep 
furrow. 

Both the young man and the girl greeted her advent 
with awakened interest. The clerk stopped his filing. 
Miss Beet turned her back upon the desk and stood 
facing her, with the titillated demeanour which any 
news pertaining to serious illness brings. 

“Well, is he any better?” 

“No.” The newcomer spoke with difficulty. Her 
voice was strained and husky. “There are two doctors 
with him. They couldn’t tell me anything.” 

“They haven’t given up hope?” Miss Beet’s voice 


6 


CONFLICT 


came with eager brightness. A sudden revulsion of 
feeling seemed to seize the hearer, she turned almost 
savagely. 

“Of course not! ,, 

“Well, I’m sure!” Miss Beet retreated, injured. 
The clerk took up the cudgels sympathetically. 

“It’s a perfectly harmless question, Miss van Heyten, 
considering that Mr. Berryfield’s past seventy ” 

“He’s stronger than any of us.” 

“Ah, but his sedentary life must tell.” 

The words struck on the girl’s ear with disgusting 
unctuousness. Mr. Berryfield, whom they all had 
feared so, lay helpless, and like ghouls, the office slaves 
exulted. 

“Business is all very well, but he’s stuck too close 
to it, and he’s reaping the results. You can’t play 
tricks with a constitution and escape results.” 

“No indeed!” Miss Beet struck in jauntily. “I 
think it’s simply sinful to work as Mr. Berryfield has 
worked. Why, life’s not worth living, lived like 
that.” 

“Not worth living!” 

Miss van Heyten was not in a condition to argue 
calmly. While it is possible to exist on thirty shillings 
a week and save on it, the food which that sum 
provides is often not the food a highly-strung girl 
fancies. Neither can one work fourteen hours a day 
without “results.” Mr. Berryfield’s secretary was at 
the stage when the slamming of a door would make 
her start from her chair, and the day’s calculations 
followed her home and danced before her closed eyes 
even while she slept. At the present moment, her 
voice was shaking in a curious manner as she broke 
out with her answer. 

“Not worth living! to have built up such a firm as 
Berryfield’s : to have made with one’s own hands with 
scarcely any capital a business like Berryfield’s — the 
biggest in the tube trade? To be first of any- 


CONFLICT 


7 


thing is worth living for, and there's no one in sight 
of us.” 

The girl paused, breathless. From the deep circles 
round them, her eyes blazed forth furiously. Her 
hearer answered with irritating serenity. 

“Oh, I dunno. What about Cuvier’s? They’re 
getting a lot of contracts now.” 

“Nothing that matters.” 

“I’m not so sure. From what I hear, Cuvier’s pretty 
smart.” 

“Cuvier! why, he’s been bankrupt.” The words 
lashed forth. 

“Ah, but he’s up again. That was ages ago. I 
don’t say he’s not a bit of a gambler, but he’s a big 
man, and now he’s sound enough.” 

“I’m surprised — surprised !” 

Miss van Heyten turned, confronting him. Tier heart 
was nearly bursting with rage at such disloyalty. Mr. 
Berryfield was lying sick to death, and his own people 
were beginning to erect new gods and pulling at his 
pedestal. 

Cuvier’s was a younger firm which had only arisen 
in the last few years: it was true it was forging 
rapidly ahead, and of late years on one or two occa- 
sions had seriously threatened Berryfield’s. It is 
never pleasant to feel young blood overtaking one. 
Berryfield’s reign had been so unquestioned that any 
intrusion on its supremacy seemed a positive imper- 
tinence, and Cuvier’s daring strokes of business were 
bitterly resented by the older firm. Rumours of 
Cuvier’s personal immorality added to Mr. Berryfield’s 
animosity against his business rival. 

There are two kinds of financiers, the money-spinner 
and the gambler. One has the lust of acquisition, 
the other the lust of conflict. To the one victory is a 
principle; to the other, an emotion. Berrvfield and 
Cuvier represented the two poles of temperament: 
personal hate was inevitable in their rivalry. Cuvier’s 


8 


CONFLICT 


very name was a red rag to Mr. Berryfield ; and to 
hear it now, sent his devoted secretary into a white- 
hot frenzy. 

“You’ll be defending his moral character next!” 

Miss van Heyten’s tone was not calculated to 
mollify her opponents. Miss Beet tiptoed daintily 
over to the enemy. 

“His portrait’s very handsome. Did you see it 
in last week’s Sketch ? I love that sleepy kind. And 
a man as rich as him, living in London too, must 
have such temptations,” Miss Beet sighed delicately. 

“Whatever he is in private life don’t make him a 
rascal in business. The fact is, Berryfield’s has had 
the whole field so long, Mr. Berryfield can’t stand a 
younger man coming alongside him.” 

“Cuvier’s will never be alongside us.” 

Mr. Berryfield had at least one loyal adherent in 
his secretary. 

A girl of courage and of character, her training 
had developed both. Left an orphan in early child- 
hood, a London uncle, then a young and struggling 
journalist, had paid for her board and education in 
Birmingham, choosing that city on account of the 
scholarships at the excellent High Schools, through 
which indeed Mary had considerably lessened the 
cost of her education. When the girl arrived at the 
mature age of fifteen, her uncle married. From that 
day she had pushed and struggled and fought her way 
alone. 

It had been a hard fight until she had arrived at 
Berryfield’s. 

Miss van Heyten possessed divers qualities which 
pleased the old Quaker. Her principles were as rigid 
as his own : her sense of duty and of loyalty un- 
swerving. He trusted her as he trusted no other on 
his staff. Her quick brain, too, attracted him : he 
found her judgment keen and daring. 

Since his illness, she had gone daily to his house, 


CONFLICT 


9 


reported everything and received directions, returning 
to fulfil them, for Mr. Berryfield liked to drive alone, 
and there was no one but Miss van Heyten to take his 
place. It must be said that the young woman in 
question was in no way daunted by the sudden re- 
sponsibility. She felt like a partner in the business: 
Mr. Berryfield listened to her opinion, even invited it : 
she knew his wishes absolutely; more, shared his 
ideals. The honour of the firm was as dear to her as 
it was to Mr. Berryfield. 

Business people are not devoid of sentiment. The 
careless words of the clerk struck to her soul. Her 
sensitive face was twitching with the intensity of her 
emotion as she answered. 

“It takes more than a few years to build up 
such a reputation as we’ve got. Our word’s as good 
as other people’s agreements. We’ve never had a 
deal which the whole world mightn’t know of. There’s 
no firm in the whole country which is so respected. 
Mr. Berryfield hasn’t given his life for nothing. 
To belong to Berryfield’s is something to be proud 
of.” 

The tears had started to her eyes. Ill-fed, uncouthly 
dressed, the working girl had a certain spiritual 
dignity. She was one of the drudges that pushed 
Life’s wheel, but the glory of endeavour illumined her 
for one brief moment. 

Then her exaltation faded: with a sudden crimson- 
ing of countenance, she moved awkwardly to the 
desk, conscious of the lack of sympathy from those 
who heard — more of their contempt. 

Miss Beet was not slow in voicing it. 

“Why, you’re as bad as Mr. Berryfield. If you’ll 
excuse me, dear, you take things much too seriously. 
All work and no play, you know, et cetera. One 
must have some relaxation. We’re made for pleasure 
quite as much as for work: in fact, if you’re a girl, 
more so,” 


10 


CONFLICT 


Miss Beet placed her hands on her trim waist and 
cast a responsive glance to admiring masculinity. 
Mary caught the glance. Something in her sickened 
at the tawdry invitation, the cheap superficiality of 
the flirtation. 

She sat down to the desk with the decisive air that 
was habitual to her. 

“If yop don’t find pleasure here, you ought to,” she 
said tersely. “It’s better to be doing things that count, 
than twisting round in a young man’s arms at 
dances.” 

“Good heavens, Miss Heyten! You can’t work 
day and night!” The young man spoke defensively. 

“You can go home and rest, so that you’re fresh 
for the morning’s work, instead of frittering your 
energy in foolishness and coming half-asleep!” 

Mary was sincere in her belief. Responsibility 
makes one strangely old. At a very early age she 
had summed up the worth of youth’s distractions. 
Dances and theatres mean late hours, and late hours 
mean early morning headaches ; country excursions 
mean money, which must be taken from the sick 
fund in the savings bank. Who but unthinking fools 
could take pleasure in frivolities with such inevitable 
consequences ? Pity her not, nor blame her neither ! 
Where other maids swayed lightly this way and that 
to the shrill flutes of fancy, Mary’s spirit thrilled in 
no way to the pretty tinkling. For her, the roll of 
drums upon man’s battle-field ! Her blood danced to 
the grim fury of the struggle. At Berrvfield’s she 
stood close up against the whirring wheel of in- 
dustry; her young strength pushed the rim. When 
the headaches did not come, her working days were 
full of joy; and even when she felt depressed and 
ill, there was a certain pleasure to be found in 
battling with Nature and winning through by sheer 
will-power. 

But alas, for Mary’s philosophy the retort was 


CONFLICT 


ii 


very obvious. It came from Miss Beet’s lips with 
astonishing pertinence. 

‘‘Well, you don’t look fit for work.” 

"No, you’re sticking at it much too hard. Every 
one’s saying how ill you look. Do take a bit of advice 
now.” 

“I’m not ill. I’m not ill.” 

With blazing eyes the girl faced them. She was 
defending so much. This faintness that she combatted 
was threatening to overthrow her ; it was beating at 
the doors. But she was holding the fortress still for 
Berryfield’s. She would never give in — never ; yet 
the clerks’ coarse sympathy maddened her. She spoke 
desperately. 

“When Mr. Berryfield comes back it will be all right. 
It’s only the responsibility. If I could see him for 

a moment ” She broke off with a queer, dry 

sob. Suddenly she felt lonely. Only she in all the 
firm seemed to care for what he cared for; only she 
was there to guard his interests. The others grudged 
their time, devotion, strength — conserving such for 
their miserable outside lives. Mary alone gave all and 
held back nothing. 

Miss Beet was not ill-natured. Her voice softened. 

“But he mayn’t be back for some time, and you 
have too much, really. You’ve been here till eleven 
every night this week. Why don’t you leave things to 
Mr. Sanders?” 

“Sanders is manager of the works. I’m a secretary !” 
The well-meant words came as fuel to the fire. Most 
women would have “left things” to Sanders, the 
active, pushing, up-to-date ; only Mary knew the 
temptation she had fought, to “leave things” to his 
grasping hands ! But she had kept true to her trust. 

“I keep things in my hands, because Mr. Berryfield 
can know then exactly what has happened, and every- 
thing is then done as he wishes. Sanders would do 
as he thinks best. I do as Mr. Berryfield thinks best,” 


12 


CONFLICT 


Loyally she held the colours: her head was aching 
tragically: the terrible weakness was creeping over 
her: every nerve was tingling. Yet she must hold on. 

Miss Beet shrugged her shoulders. If Miss van 
Heyten chose to work herself to death, it was her 
look-out. She turned away with a swing of her 
accordion-pleated skirt. 

“Oh well, it will kill you,” she said flippantly. “A 
girl oughtn’t to have such responsibility.” 

“It’s a man’s place,” said her colleague with equal 
determination. 

Mary mastered her emotion with an effort. 

“Have you finished those invoices ?” said she. 

“Nearly.” 

“Finish them in the next room, then. I can’t do 
my letters with you chattering. I’ll send for you 
when I want you, Miss Beet. Get on with the filing.” 

Miss van Heyten could command authority. In 
another minute she was alone. She rose up quickly, 
and glanced at the square of glass which hung on the 
wall opposite. The face that looked back at her was 
the face of a sick person. 

Poor food, close rooms, and incessant strain were 
routing a vigorous nervous constitution. Signs of 
this had not been wanting for weeks past. A growing 
disinclination for her untempting meals, queer shoot- 
ing headaches which left perpetual heaviness as a 
reminder, pricking sensations which ran through her 
whole body to the tips of her fingers. But she had 
taken little heed of these signals until the sight of her 
lined visage woke her into consciousness. 

Supposing she fell ill? 

For the first time in her life fear touched her. She 
fought desperately: she could not be ill. There was 
no one who could take her place till Mr. Berrvfield 
returned. Besides, she could not afford it. She must 
combat and subdue the feeling with inertness. 

She fell upon the pile of letters with desperate 


CONFLICT 


13 


intensity, calling all her strength to push the panic 
from her, and to some extent succeeding, though the 
fear stayed dully in the background. When one is 
entirely dependent on one’s own energy, the tem- 
porary loss of that energy has an appalling signifi- 
cance: when one has in addition an overwhelming 
conception of one’s responsibilities, the burden becomes 
oppressive. 

Miss van Hey ten had the courage of a dozen 
average men ; she knew she must not let her thoughts 
dwell on the possibilities of illness. She plunged into 
the contents of the pile of letters as into a douche-bath. 

Half-a-dozen were read mechanically, and as 
mechanically dismissed. Then one arrested her atten- 
tion. It was a short note, merely stating that a repre- 
sentative from the rival firm of Cuvier’s was coming 
from London that day to bring a matter before Mr. 
Berryfield’s notice, for which they must ask explan- 
ation. In the over- wrought state of the girl’s mind, 
the letter was a menace, so unexpected and mys- 
terious that she felt what she very seldom felt, the 
need of counsel. 

Miss van Heyten was a young woman of prompt 
action. A telephone stood on the desk. In another 
minute she had given a number and was holding the 
receiver to her ear. 

“That you, Mr. Sanders? I’ve just received a 
letter from Cuvier’s saying there’s a serious matter 
they must bring before our notice, and get an ex- 
planation. What? Nothing to do with you? I didn’t 
say it had !” 

A growl from the other end of the wire. 

“I can’t see Mr. Berryfield. If I could, I shouldn’t 
be consulting you.” 

The girl’s face flushed. 

“I wish you wouldn’t interrupt me, Mr. Sanders. 
I was going to tell you: Cuvier’s are sending a man 
down to see me. Yes. Me!” 


H 


CONFLICT 


A sharp request from the unseen interlocutor. 

“You? Why should I send him on to you? I can 
see him perfectly well. ... I tell you, Mr. Berry- 
field can’t be got at. There are two doctors with him 
now. ... No, of course they haven’t given him 
up; but it’s impossible to worry him with this. . . . 
Refuse to see Cuvier’s messenger ? What do you think 
I’m here for?” 

“What was that?” 

The reply came stentoriously. 

Miss van Heyten hung up the receiver sharply. 
Between her and Sanders, the manager of the works, 
there was an open feud. He was sharp and pushing, 
and bitterly resented the girls importance with Mr. 
Berryfield. On her side the girl distrusted Sanders: 
she knew that everything was not brought to her 
notice. Between the office and the works communi- 
cation faltered, how or where it was difficult to say, 
but she felt the lack of loyalty. Mr. Berryfield 
away, Sanders had the opportunity of engaging 
on expeditions of his own, and Miss van Heyten 
scented them. 

She sat still, thinking. An insignificant girl, pale of 
skin and sunken-eyed, with no feminine charm and 
grace : yet a woman, and a young woman, facing a load 
of responsibility which must be shouldered manfully. 
A woman with the dull sense of the need to live and the 
difficulty of so doing, with the multiplicity of cares 
attendant on so large a business weighing on her, with 
the under-current of physical uneasiness threatening 
her strength. Nothing romantic : only a conscientious 
clerk, trying her hardest to keep her head above the 
flood and guide her master’s barque through troubled 
waters. 

Cuvier’s was threatening Berryfield’s. She alone 
was there to defend the firm. She, unnerved and 


CONFLICT 15 

overworked, answerable for her actions to a stern 
employer who could give no help. 

Heroism is the most picturesque and gallant of 
the virtues. I claim it for this tired-out young 
woman when she set her lips together, drew her head 
up, and looked back at the office wall with eyes in 
which determination burned again. 


CHAPTER II 


“ Put them in a hospital, place them in jail in yellow overalls, 
do what you will, young Jessamy finds young Jenny.” 

R. L. S. 


Miss van Heyten had betrayed unwonted emotion 
in her conversation with her fellow-clerks. The 
young woman whom Mr. Cuvier’s representative 
confronted, showed no sign of it. She was so 
eminently clerk-like that he hesitated on the thresh- 
old. He had come on a matter of grave importance, 
and had not expected to be confronted with this 
shabby, insignificant young girl. For the moment he 
did not realise that she was the person he was 
supposed to see. 

He spoke tentatively. 

“Mr. Berryfield ....?” 

Miss van Heyten nodded curtly. 

“I’m his secretary. You are from Cuvier’s. We 
were advised of your coming by this morning’s post.” 

Mr. Hayden Cobb still hesitated. He was a tall, 
strongly-built young man with deep-set eyes and a 
sensitive but resolute mouth. There was a quiet 
reserve about him which Mary resented as “superior.” 
The indefinable atmosphere of good breeding which 
surrounded him, set him apart from the crudities 
of the office-clerks. He made no pretence of polite- 
ness nor of homage and yet there was chivalry in his 
bearing. It intensified her natural hostility that 
he had the advantage of her in manner and equip- 
ment ; she felt in some way it reflected upon 
Berryfield’s. 

His words did not soothe her. 

16 


CONFLICT 1 7 

“I am afraid I must ask to see whoever is in 
charge.” 

“I am in charge.” 

“Of Berryfield’s ?” 

Incredulity was written in his tone. Mary’s lips 
compressed themselves. 

“Yes. Mr. Berryfield attends to everything himself. 
I go to him each day to take his letters and directions. 
The last week he has been too ill to see me so I have 
had to manage by myself. There is no one else whom 
you can see.” 

The newcomer’s eyes were fixed upon the girl : 
they were studying her anaemic face. Mary felt 
herself flushing under the close scrutiny. She drew 
herself up antagonistically. 

“Perhaps you will kindly make up your mind what 
you’re going to do as I’m busy.” She put out her 
hand to touch the bell. A distinct smile came into 
the young man’s eyes. He put his hat down. 

“I think I had better see you then.” 

“Be as quick as possible, please.” 

Cobb measured a glance with this business-like 
young woman, and discovered that her eyes were grey 
and singularly unresponsive. Also that her square 
jaw belied the pallor of her complexion. He was in 
the presence of somebody who counted, and he was 
beginning to realise it. 

He sat down and took out his pocket-book. 

“My business is that your manager has induced 
our foreman to sell him certain information.” 

“Sanders ?” 

“Yes. We suspected some one was tampering 
with the man. Then these letters were discovered. 
They prove that Sanders has been buying inside 
information.” 

“There must be some mistake!” 

Miss van Heyten’s brow was knitted ; her eyes were 
stern. 


2 


CONFLICT 


18 

Cobb referred to the pocket-book. 

“There is another name implicated. Denvers. He 
seems to be forming a syndicate to help you purchase 
something to which we have the prior claim !” 

“Denvers!” 

Mary laughed outright. 

“I thought there was some muddle ! Denvers help 
Berryfield’s ! Why, Denvers has nothing ; he’s the 
sort of man who ‘knows people’ and forms shady 
syndicates for highly speculative enterprises. Denvers 
help us, when we’ve a reserve fund of a million. Its 

too amusing. Really, Mr. — er ” She took up the 

card, and read out the name carelessly, “Cobb — if 
that’s all you’ve come to tell me, I needn’t detain you.” 

She was rising. The young man no longer saw her 
shabbiness. She was a power, insolent and unassail- 
able. His lips tightened, his eyes grew steely. He 
had risen also. 

“Will you do me the favour of looking at these 
please.” 

Mary stretched out her hand for the letters; her 
gaze met his, but something stabbed within her 
heart. Mr. Cobb’s resolute demeanour also inspired 
confidence. 

The sight of the handwriting turned her cheeks a 
little paler. She switched on the green-shaded desk 
lamp, and bent down, peering at the words. One 
sentence flashed out, as in characters of fire. 

“I shall be seeing Denvers on Tuesday and will write 
you how far he has proceeded with our syndicate.” 

One may nerve oneself to meet disaster, yet when 
it comes the realisation is as overpowering as if it had 
been unexpected. There could be no doubt of the 
justice of the charge that Cuvier’s had brought against 
them. Sanders’ handwriting was unmistakable. 

Yet that Berryfield’s could be impugned by Cuvier’s ! 

She could not stop now to think of the shame of 
it. All her wits and strength were needed to guard 


CONFLICT 


19 


the dignity which was so seriously threatened. She 
raised her head with a composure which mystified the 
young man opposite. He did not see the clenched 
hands upon her knee, the force with which she kept 
her voice even. He was only conscious of her un- 
shaken self-possession. 

“This is a very serious matter. I must thank you 
for having brought it to our notice. Mr. Berryfield 
has been away for three weeks now ” 

“Unfortunately, these letters date three months 
back.” 

She had made a gigantic effort and preserved the 
mask of calmness but behind it her tired brain was 
whirling. She did not see his meaning. She only 
knew she hated this quiet, self-assured young man 
who looked “London” all over, the corrupt extrava- 
gant London where Cuvier lived. Though she had 
never set eyes on the latter, she shared her employer’s 
feeling toward him. Cuvier raced ; figured at fashion- 
able gatherings; was a personage whose doings were 
chronicled by the London papers. His secretary 
came from that world and bore its imprint. The fact 
that he was remarkably good-looking, and had treated 
her with a simple respect which she did not receive 
from the clerks in the office, her only men acquaint- 
ances, added to her irritation. 

If he had blustered, she could have retorted; as it 
was, she had nothing to retaliate against. 

His brown eyes regarded her very steadily as he 
spoke. 

“You have yourself informed me of Mr. Berryfield’s 
personal interest in his business. It is hardly likely 
his manager would be acting on his own initiative 
or at least without good grounds for thinking his 
proceedings would be approved.” 

The thunderbolt had fallen. Mary stared at him 
for a moment, breathless at the accusation. Then in- 
dignation gathered force and she spoke in a low voice. 


20 


CONFLICT 


“Are you suggesting that Mr. Berryfield knows 
anything of this?” 

“There can be no doubt of it.” 

Mary fronted him with a calm that hid the fury of 
her soul. That any one should have dared to impugn 
Mr. Berryfield ! That Cuvier should have dared to 
do so! It took all her power of self-control to pre- 
serve a dignified composure. 

Cobb hardened his heart. He had been sent on an 
unpleasant mission and must go through with it. 
Business had prisoned youth ; sexlessly, each caught up 
in the driving issues, man and woman faced each other. 

He spoke deliberately, withdrawing nothing. 

“I’ve proved my case. We know how bitter Mr. 
Berryfield is towards us. It’s only natural when we’re 
pressing him so hard.” 

His was the superior position now. He used it, 
mercilessly. The girl was stung to forgetfulness of 
everything but a desire to hurt the grave superiority 
which fronted her. 

“We have our ways ... we don’t stoop to your 
pushing methods ” 

“You stoop to something worse.” Flame provoked 
flame, Cobb was experiencing indignation also. No 
word of apology or contrition had come from his 
opponent. His anger made the girl recall her 
scattered self-possession. She faced him squarely. 

“I have told you we know nothing of this. Sanders 
resents the confidence Mr. Berryfield puts in me. He 
must be trying to strengthen his position. I have 
never trusted him. . . . But as for Mr. Berryfield 
countenancing such low intrigue, it’s too absurd for 
argument.” 

“Mr. Berryfield is responsible for his employes.” 

“I have told you we are sorry.” 

There was little contrition in the tone. It provoked 
Cobb out of his usual courtesy. 


CONFLICT 


21 


“I’m sorry too. Mr. Berryfield is an old man; still 
when he does get in a mess he ought to face the fire 
or leave a man to face it. Not a girl.” 

Cobb had pierced the shield at last. 

The interview had been hard enough ; to be dis- 
missed as unworthy of Mr. Berryfield’s trust because 
of her sex, struck Mary as a coward’s blow. She 
steadied herself, her hands behind her on the chair- 
back ; her voice was quivering. 

“I fail to see how that affects the question. What 
more could a man have done? You have tried to 
question Mr. Berryfield’s honour. Haven’t I defended 
it? Have I been afraid of you? Have I lied to you? 
I don’t see why you sneer ?” 

“1 didn’t sneer. Only a man can’t fight a woman. 
I was sent down to frighten you.” 

“You couldn’t !” The girl’s chin went upward. 
“You tried. You couldn’t. But not because you 
didn’t try.” 

“Oh come. I — I haven’t been as bad as that.” 

“You doubted me.” 

“No, no. I thought, and still think, it wasn’t likely 
Mr. Berryfield would take you into his confidence.” 

“You are wrong. I am the only person who shares 
it. There is nothing in the business I don’t know. 
Now Mr. Berryfield’s away, I manage everything. 
I’m more use to Mr. Berryfield than any man here. 
I shall see that Sanders learns a lesson. And I — 
yes, I — shall see that Berryfield’s keeps as far ahead 
of Cuvier’s in the future as it stands now.” 

Fire flashed from her eyes. The sense of power 
thrilled her. She could deal with issues, fight and 
conquer. Cobb, looking at her, felt a sudden respect, 
almost reverence. He had never held women of 
account before; this girl’s personality impressed him. 
He admired the courage which had never faltered, the 
loyalty which had never failed. It seemed to him it 
would be good to work with a girl like that, to have 


22 


CONFLICT 


her as a friend and comrade. She was no longer un- 
attractive. The shabby, unbecoming clothes became 
of trivial account beside the shining fierceness of her 
eyes. Yet as he looked at her, he saw the paleness of 
her skin, the sunken hollow of her cheek, the delicacy 
of her tight-clenched hands. A tide of pity swelled 
up within him, pity for the weakness, the lines of 
worry and ill-health, the strained look in the defiant 
eyes. He wanted to protect her, to care for her, 
to remove her from the responsibilities which were so 
great for her youth. 

Something of this showed in his altered tones. He 
answered sympathetically. 

“I am sure you will. But really we’re not enemies. 
There’s room for both of us, and I’m certain you’ll 
see that Sanders doesn't try on any of his little tricks 
again.” 

“And that Mr. Berryfield doesn’t know?” 

Her eyes pleaded, waiting his answer breathlessly. 

It came at last ; very slowly. 

“Yes. If you trust him so, I’m sure he doesn’t 
know.” 

“You’ll tell Mr. Cuvier?” 

“I’ll tell Mr. Cuvier.” He took up his hat, then 
turned to her with the gentleness still evident in his 
manner. 

“I’m so sorry if I’ve added to your worry. You do 
understand, don’t you?” He hesitated. “Won’t you 
shake hands?” 

His well-bread air struck Mary again, and hurt her. 
She was suddenly aware of her poor and unbecoming 
clothes, her untidy hair, her inkstained fingers. 

The difference between his world and hers rushed 
upon her ; for some inexplicable reason the tears 
started to her eyes. She turned away quickly, feeling 
hopelessly unattractive, and minding it ! 

Besides, the iron had seared deep into her heart. 
For all her bravado, she knew that Berryfields’s great 


CONFLICT 


23 


reputation bad been clouded. Sbe could no longer 
look down on other firms, glorying in Berryfield’s 
invulnerable punctiliousness. Her heart sank at the 
idea of telling Mr. Berryfield. 

Hayden Cobb was possessed of the old-fashioned 
quality of chivalry to a great degree. Now the lone- 
liness of the tired eves went straight to his heart. 
If Mary could only have known, it was just because 
she looked so uncared-for that she aroused his not 
easily-awakened interest. 

‘‘Please shake hands to show that you forgive me.” 

“For what?” said Mary. 

The sympathy in his voice hurt her more acutely. 
He was pretending to treat her as a woman, she who 
had no time for the grace of womanhood, she who was 
only business, through and through. She choked back 
the tears, and turned brusquely, defiance in her gaze. 

“Why, for — saying all the things I did.” 

“I haven’t noticed you said anything of particular 
interest or importance,” she replied shortly. “You 
can tell Mr. Cuvier the man will be spoken to. It 
probably will be unnecessary to explain that the 
guarantee of our not using any information gained 
by Sanders, is that we have no need of it !” 

The glance that met his, said there was no need to 
pity her ! 

Yet, as Cobb made his way out of the office, rebuffed 
and disconcerted, he carried with him a memory of 
two grey eyes which repelled his sympathy — and yet 
which touched him strangely. 


CHAPTER III 


“ Look, if a beggar, in fixed middle-life, 

Should find a treasure, — can he use the same 

With straitened habits and with mind starved small . . .?” 

R. Browning, An Epistle . 

‘‘Death of Mr. Berryfield.” 

The stop-press edition was still wet: the boys were 
rushing from the printing offices, hawking their ghastly 
tidings through the city. 

“Death of Mr. Berryfield at 6 p. m.” 

That was all, and yet the one line had sent a tremor 
of excitement into every household, and an avalanche 
of horror on one. 

The office was just the same : that was the extraor- 
dinary thing. Mary’s gaze travelled stupidly over 
the rows of Blue-books on the mantelpiece : the safe : 
the pegs on which hung her shabby outer garments: 
where Mr. Berryfield’s sober hat and coat had used to 
hang. He would never come back there. Never 
again would his immobile, grey, old face appear with 
the short nod which served as greeting. 

The blank was so stupefying that it overcame all 
other considerations. What would become of Berry- 
field’s was a minor thought. The only vital thing was 
that Mr. Berrvfield had vanished from existence. 

“In here, sir!” 

Someone was entering : Mary awoke to consciousness. 
It might have been hours or minutes since the news 
had come while she still sat facing the problem of 
Sanders’ disloyalty. Then the sheet had been brought 
in to her, and she had remembered nothing more but 
the one blinding fact that dwarfed all on her horizon. 

24 


CONFLICT 


25 


She recognised Mr. Berryfield’s solicitor in the new- 
comer. His arrival came as a relief in the appalling 
sense of desolation. He had been Mr. Berryfield’s 
only friend : he had probably come to bring her work 
to do. Something to do, in the midst of all this 
chaos. Her desperation showed in her appealing eyes. 

“I see you’ve heard !” 

“Yes.” 

“Ah ! I hoped to have got down first. Mr. 
Berryfield asked me to come ” 

“You were with him?” 

“Yes !” 

“Did he . . . suffer?” 

“No. passed away quite painlessly. Heart failure.” 

Suddenly the whole thing became more terrible. 
Mr. Humphry’s dry words were so real. A faintness 
seized her. She heard someone speaking as through 
a dream — 

“You are ill . . . brandy . . .” 

Something warm and stinging was pushed between 
her lips ; fire ran down her throat, awakening vitality 
and consciousness. She struggled to sit upright. 

“I’m better. It’s only my head. It’s been worse 
than usual . . . I’m all right now.” 

She supported herself against the arms of the chair, 
concentrating all her will. Mr. Humphrey had come 
to see her: his mission was important. She could see 
that in his manner. 

“You wanted to see me, didn’t you?” 

Mr. Humphry cleared his throat: he was a solid, 
prosperous-looking person who held a prominent 
position in the town and was aware of it. 

“Mr. Berryfield desired me to. It is about your 
future.” 

Her future ! That point had not occurred to her. 
Suddenly a new wave of terror rose up, leaving her 
breathless. Her future! With Mr. Berryfield dead, 
her place as secretary had gone. 


2 6 


CONFLICT 


“I am not to stop ?” 

The lawyer’s keen eyes saw the ghastly whiteness: 
he half rose. 

“Why ” 

“It is nothing ! I was only thinking . . . what shall 
I do!” 

The words came in an anguished gasp. 

“You have no relations, I believe !” 

“No . . . that is, only one. ... Of course, I can’t 
expect to be kept on . . . only . . . I’m afraid I’m 
not up to much just now. Mr. Berryfield would have 
made allowances, but in a new situation ” 

She put up her hand to her head, trying to hold its 
throbbing. A blank void stretched in front, in which 
there was no place for her : and she was ill, desperately 
ill. Her brain was dancing like a maelstrom of fire. 
Mr. Humphry was talking, but his words had little 
sense. They sounded in a confused murmur. 

“ . . . Highly of your capabilities . . . shared re- 
sponsibilities . . . lately entire control ... his inter- 
ests yours ...” 

Out of the babble came the words — 

“Berryfield’s is left to you.” 

He had paused, waiting for her to speak. She 
^ stared stupidly ; the weight of the communication was 
'so immense, she could not realise. 

Berryfield’s hers. 

If it had been any one but Mr. Humphry — but it 
was Mr. Humphry who had spoken the extraordinary 
pronouncement. He sat in the arm-chair, clean-shaven, 
broad-faced, with a sharp, over-bearing nose and a 
closely compressed mouth that looked capable of 
guarding his clients’ secrets. He had a curt, snubbing 
way of talking which silenced most people; as a 
solicitor Mr. Humphry saw the seamy side of life 
and did not trouble to conceal his contempt for 
humanity. He would certainly not condescend to 
play tricks on it. 


CONFLICT 


27 

She strove to collect her scattered faculties : to 
speak reasonably, coherently. 

‘‘But surely Mr. Berryfield has relations.’’ 

“No. He was an only child and a bachelor.” 

“There must be some one.” 

“No one who can dispute your claim.” 

“But the charities.” 

“He has remembered all. He has left three 
millions.” 

“Yes.” 

Mary acquiesced in a whisper. The memory of 
Mr. Berryfield’s stern old face rushed over her, 
oppressing her with overwhelming desolation. He 
had been the centre of her world. His intensity had 
never failed to stimulate her. Now that this pivot of 
her life had gone, blankness spread itself. She had 
no one to look up to, to serve — on rare occasions, 
to please. 

Tears filled her eyes at the memory of the triumph- 
ant moments when Mr. Berryfield had smiled grimly 
at the proofs of her smartness. That Berryfield’s was 
hers did not help her loneliness. 

Mr. Humphry was continuing in his dry, phlegmatic 
manner. 

“Mr. Berryfield was anxious you should know at 
once. He feared in his absence questions might have 
accumulated with which some one should be empow- 
ered to deal immediately. In the interest of the firm, 
however, he thought it wise that your position should 
be disclosed to no one. If customers knew a young 
woman was running the entire business, you might 
lose contracts. He has therefore simply stated in his 
will that he leaves his business to his partner, and 
signed a document stating you are that partner. 

Mr. Humphry paused. He noted the slight 
physique, the lined forehead, the tear-filled eyes. He 
had no opinion of women in business. They were 


28 


CONFLICT 


too emotional. Mary van Hey ten seemed to him a 
particularly bad type. 

Mary was sensitive of his disapproval, but could 
not combat it. She was devitalised. Her energy 
had gone. 

“It is a great responsibility. It will mean, of course, 
your entire absorption.” 

“I have no other interests.” 

Mr. Humphry put on his glasses — 

“You look far from strong.” 

“It’s only my head.” 

She could talk no more: she could not even think. 
The room was rising and falling, giddily. She tried 
to rise, and the table receded from her grasp. 

Berryfield’s was hers. Its whole responsibilities, its 
cares, its endless call on time and energy were hers: 
they had descended on her in a huge cloud which was 
settling more heavily each minute. There was no one 
but her to bear the brunt of everything. Supposing 
that she failed ? Supposing she could not hold up the 
load? She put out her hand searching blindly for 
some help. 

There was so much to do and she could not do it. 
Sanders! Who was to dismiss Sanders? Somebody 
must. She tried to speak, to tell Mr. Humphry 
before the awful cloud descended. It was descending 
— cloud and fire, burning, blazing fire that sent 
flames whirling before her eyes and through the pain- 
racked head. Some one was speaking, holding her. 
She did not hear. Darkness had come, and merciful 
oblivion. 

Whimsical is Fate. At the moment when the firm 
of Berryfield’s was hers, when she must enter on her 
trust and guard the honor dearer to Mr. Berryfield 
than his grey life, Miss van Heyten was removed 
quickly and neatly from the scene of action. In other 
words, Mary lay prostrate with brain-fever. 


CHAPTER IV 


u Let a man contend to the uttermost 
For his life’s set prize, be it what it will.” 

R. Browning, The Statue and the Bust. 

Mr. Cuvier was smoking an after-dinner cigar in 
his customary leisurely manner. A man of power, 
unmistakably, as he lay back in his chair, broad- 
shouldered, lean-flanked, emphatically vigorous. There 
was an arrogance of strength in the square jaw and 
sleepy, penetrating eyes. A fair skin and fair hair 
gave him a falsely youthful appearance, belied by the 
net-work of wrinkles round his eyes. A wisp of hair 
had a habit of falling over his forehead, giving him a 
rakish, unkempt look. There was a carelessness about 
his manner which irritated men and which women 
found fascinating. 

He was waiting for Cobb’s return from Birmingham. 
There were various matters he wanted to discuss with 
him. The smoke came from between his lips in inter- 
mittent puffs. He was revolving new moves for the 
morrow’s game. All his interest was concentrated on 
the fighting line, though his emotions were almost im- 
possible to arouse. He accepted defeat with shrugged 
shoulders, there were always fresh goals to aim at. 
Not a self-sacrificing man, but one who would do un- 
expected acts of justice, even kindness. A man who 
would have no scruples in kicking off impediments if 
he felt them clog. A man who inspired extraordinary 
confidence and loyalty in those within his personal 
radius, and was detested bv those outside. 

Not a pleasant enemy ; net a man in whom a 
29 


3 ° 


CONFLICT 


woman would be wise to place her trust. As he lay, 
lost in thought, the cruelty of his mouth was evident. 
Thin-lipped and hard as iron, it cut his face like a 
curved whip-cord. There was neither tenderness nor 
mercy in his eyes. Woe betide weakness, if it came 
near Simeon Cuvier. 

He lifted his eyes to greet his secretary’s advent 
with a nod. 

“Well?” 

“Berryfield’s dead !” 

“What?” 

“Died at six this evening. I saw it on the placards 
as I got into Euston.” 

“You didn’t see him, then.” 

“No, sir.” 

Cuvier stretched out an authoritative hand for the 
paper which Cobb held. 

“ ‘Death of Birmingham’s leading manufacturer. 
Munificent benefactor of his city. Monument of 
integrity.’ Dear, dear, how well we look in our 
obituaries. I wish we could have got home on the 
old rogue first. I had appreciated the idea of laying 
a paternal finger on Mr. Berryfield’s weak spot !” 

His hearer winced ; the news had sobered Cobb. 
Ever since he had heard it, his thoughts had been 
haunted by a girl’s face, pinched, worried, desperately 
plucky. The news would mean much to her, fight- 
ing so hard for Berryfield’s — Berryfield’s whose 
honour had been impugned for the first time in the 
firm’s history that afternoon by him. Now, death 
had cut the knot, and the reign of Mr. Berryfield was 
over. It was with an odd desire to please her that he 
spoke. 

“Mr. Berryfield had nothing to do with the matter.” 

“Eh. You said you hadn’t seen him.” 

“I saw his secretary. She assured me this was the 
first they had heard of Sanders’ action, and I am sure 
she spoke the truth.” 


CONFLICT 


3i 


“She — she ?” 

There was a questioning humour in Mr. Cuvier’s 
voice which brought a flush to the young man’s brow. 
Hayden Cobb came of soldier ancestors. He stood to 
his guns. 

“Yes, sir. Sanders is the manager of the works. 
The business is run from the office and this girl seems 
in charge of the whole show.” 

“Sounds a capable person. What sort of girl?” 

“Very plucky, sir: clever too.” 

“Pretty?” 

“I didn’t notice.” 

“And that was all you saw?” 

“Yes, sir. She represents Mr. Berryfield when he’s 
away.” 

“She told you so, I presume?” 

Again Cobb flushed ; he kept silence with difficulty. 

“And you believed all she told you?” 

Cobb faced the battery of Cuvier’s half-shut glance. 

“Yes, sir, I wasn’t certain if Mr. Berryfield was as 
ill as they made out, or whether she was simply 
shielding him from the unpleasantness ; but now, I 
believe what she said.” 

“I am only asking,” said Mr. Cuvier moving his 
foot thoughtfully over the pattern of the carpet, ‘be- 
cause I thought you an unimpressionable person, Cobb, 
and it worries me to see that you are human.” 

There was only one point which marred Cobb’s 
respect for his master: that was Cuvier’s attitude to 
women. Cobb did not pose as a moralist, but he 
hated Cuvier’s commerce with the impudent little 
chorus girls. Women were the slightest of side-issues 
in Cuvier’s life, he patronised the vaudeville belles 
because he found them the most amusing and least 
exacting species of the sex, and bought them frankly. 
But the society of the coulisses does not ennoble man’s 
ideals of womanhood. 

Tonight, Cuvier’s tone struck Cobb more disagree- 


32 


CONFLICT 


ably than usual. His chivalry flamed up to protect 
the girl he had battled with. 

“I am afraid I don’t understand you, sir. I could 
not see Mr. Berryfield, so I saw his secretary. I am 
sure that the girl I interviewed is equal to dealing 
with any one.” Cobb spoke with a resolution which 
would have flattered Miss van Heyten could she have 
heard him. 

“Tush. I wanted you to scare the man who wrote 
those letters so that he wouldn’t dare try on the trick 
again; and you’ve done absolutely nothing except 
receive assurances of everybody’s innocence from a 
woman whom you’ve been fool enough to believe.” 

“Wait a minute, sir. I did not believe sufficiently. 
If I had accepted Miss van Heytens word as to Mr. 
Berryfield’s health, and ignorance of the matter, I 
should have gone straight off to Sanders and had it 
out with him. If it weren’t for the fact that everything 
will be sixes and sevens, I should go back now.” 

His straight eyes met Cuvier’s with a look that 
routed the smiling cynicism. Cuvier was not annoyed. 
A very kindly look came into his face as he confronted 
Cobb. He appreciated his clean honour though it 
amused him to mock at it. 

Cobb was the only living creature for whom Cuvier 
entertained the slightest affection. He had discovered 
him in his own office, where the lad’s unusual refine- 
ment struck Cuvier; the stamp of the public school is 
not to be mistaken. Inquiry elicited that Cobb was a 
Winchester boy, had left of his own accord, and was 
supporting himself. A curious look of endurance in 
the young face seemed to indicate that the process 
was not an easy one. 

The staff spoke well of Cobb. He was intelligent, 
his whole heart was in his work, and his only draw- 
back appeared to be an impenetrable reserve. All 
these qualities Cuvier thought good ones. He took 
the boy into his private office. 


CONFLICT 


33 


When, some years later, Cuvier discovered his 
history, he was struck by the boy’s grit in having kept 
it to himself. It would have been so easy to have told 
Cuvier and enlisted his certain sympathy. But he had 
chosen to fight through alone. 

Cuvier believed in few people and respected less. 
Cobb had both his trust and his respect. 

“So we can leave things to the young woman at 
Berryfield’s ?” 

“I don’t say that, sir,” Cobb returned. “I’ve been 
wondering if Sanders has got wind of the patent. 
The foreman has obviously sold him information of 
importance.” 

“But you’re the only person who’s in the secret !” 

“I know, sir. I’ll tell you what’s put it into my 
head.” 

Cobb looked round for a seat, and pulled a chair up. 
He sat down, leaning forward, his hands clasped 
between his knees. The firelight shone upon his 
clear-cut features, serious with the shadow of his 
suspicions. It was the face of a grave young knight, 
austere, restrained and earnest. Behind him the great 
room stretched away into mysterious darkness. The 
light flickered on books in far-away recesses, discover- 
ing them capriciously. The window framed vistas of 
the park, its leafless trees illuminated by the faint 
light of the stars. Outside, the world lay still, night- 
enfolded. Within the room men thought and toiled, 
still goaded by the God of labour. 

“Go on.” 

Cuvier had risen, and stood before the mantelpiece. 
His hands were behind his coat-tails, his cigar between 
his teeth. His shoulders half-obscured the row of 
photographs which flaunted in a shameless line among 
the pipes and books. Each bore a personal scrawl. 
They represented the recent favorites. 

“In the last letter, Sanders said he couldn’t make 
the final offer till he had seen Denvers. Now this girl 

3 


34 


CONFLICT 


says Denvers is only a shark with a knack of forming 
syndicates. And we know ourselves if Sanders is pur- 
chasing information for Berryfield’s, Berryfield’s could 
pay for it : but Mr. Berryfield’s secretary says she and 
Berryfield knew nothing of this. It looks more and 
more as if Sanders is playing his game alone. If so, 
information about the patent would be the only 
information worth anything to him.” 

“Sanders cant buy the patent. We’ve a six 
months’ option.” 

“But we shan’t close till we’ve tested the process : 
the tests mayn’t be finished in six months. We may 
want to renew our option.” 

“There’ll be no trouble about that. The inventor’s 
safe in Dalmatia. No one knows his name or location, 
except you and me.” 

“There were labels on that last packing-case.” 

Cuvier was playing with one of the photographs. 
The light gleamed on the pouting lips and rounded 
innocence of the newest chorus girl. At Cobb’s words 
he straightened himself up, and tossed the picture 
brutally into the fire. Miss Billie Button’s youthful 
softness suddenly annoyed him. 

“Well, well, well. It isn’t fatal if Sanders does 
get his dirty little nose upon the scent. We’ve six 
months.” 

“We don’t know what he may do in six months. 
He has obviously got spies in our works.” 

“I’m not going to pay ten thousand now, if that’s 
what you’re driving at. The process may turn out 
worthless. If it’s what its inventor claims, I’ll have 
it: but I’ll test it fully if I have to wait a year. It’s 
all right Cobb. There’s sense in what you say, but 
there’s no need to get panicky: it’s the first step to 
getting rushed.” 

Cobb still sat, looking at the fire. His brow had 
cleared no whit. 

“I wish I knew what information Sanders is buying. 


CONFLICT 


£ 

00 


Dismissing a foreman’s not going to help us. I’m 
not suggesting that we keep him: but dismissing him 
only sends him openly to Sanders’ camp : and he’s 
very popular with the men. He can tap them 
still. We can’t guard the tests; we must have 
workmen.” 

“Look here. Can anything be done?” 

“That’s the worst of it! I don’t see that anything 
can be.” 

“Then let the worry slide. Life’s a gamble. We’ve 
got to takes its chances.” 

“I don’t like chances.” 

Cuvier dropped the end of his cigar, and pulled his 
waistcoat down with decision. 

“We’re safe enough. Old Berryfield was the whole 
thing, and he’s dead. Sanders or any other little ant 
in his employ, don’t count. Now old Berryfield is 
cleared out, there’s not another firm to threaten us. 
We have the whole show ; and when we’ve got this 
patent, we have the tube trade in our hands. Don’t 
worry another minute! Be at the office early. I’ve 
a lot of letters.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

“I’ve got to go down to the House about the turbine 
contract. Are you coming my way?” 

They stood in the portico, looking forth, while Cuvier 
lighted a cigarette. There was a dinner at the German 
Embassy, and motors were whizzing up, to convey 
their owners homewards. The dark street was full of 
traffic. Overhead the stars glittered in a dazzling 
galaxy. The night was frosty and the footsteps of 
the passers-by rang sharply on the pavement. 

Cuvier’s car was waiting: they got into it and 
whirred toward Westminster. Cobb’s glance rested 
on the powerful hand that held the wheel: strong, 
sinewy, relentless. His confidence returned to him. 
Cuvier could be trusted. 

The swift, smooth motion calmed his troubled mind. 


3 ^ 


CONFLICT 


As they sped on through the mighty roar of the city, 
the provinces seemed to recede far into the background 
and to become of infinitesimal importance. 

After all, old Berryfield was dead : only Cuvier was 
left, very vigorously alive. 


CHAPTER V 

“For marriage is like life in this— that it is a field of battle 
and not a bed of roses.” 

R. L. S., Virginibus finer is que. 

The morning sun streamed in on the Ellestrees’ 
breakfast-table. The room was large and comfortably 
furnished, a chesterfield stood at right angles to the 
fire-place whose cushioned fender-seat invited occu- 
pancy. There were plenty of book-shelves, and a 
profusion of flowers — roses, lilies, violets — though it 
was early spring. The few prints on the walls were in 
excellent taste. It was a restful room, not too artistic 
to be comfortable, and yet harmonious. A room that 
was lived in ; and pleasant to live in also. 

The lamps beneath the coffee-machine and the 
chafing-dish had been burned for some little time 
before the door opened to admit the first arrival. That 
was a stoutish man, unshorn and slippered, whose 
khaki dressing-gown did not improve the natural 
yellowness of his complexion. Tom Ellestree was a 
typical press-man of the old regime, a Bohemian to 
his tobacco-stained finger-tips. In privacy he had no 
regard for appearances, and the addition of a dressing- 
gown to his pyjamas seemed to him to meet all the 
requirements of the breakfast hour. His breakfast 
and the morning’s news were the sole objects of his 
existence at this moment, not his aesthetic possibilities ! 

His pipe was in his mouth already, and the smoke 
puffed across the breakfast-table as he poured out his 
coffee, stood over the chafing-dish and helped himself 
37 


CONFLICT 


38 

untidily from its contents, and finally sat down at the 
place which a pile of newspapers and letters reserved 
as his. He drank noisily while he tore open the 
letters. 

“Susan !” 

‘ ‘Hullo r 

“Aren’t you coming?” 

“Why? Do you want me?” 

The door pushed open again and a woman looked 
in, brush in hand. She was partly dressed and her 
hair hung in pretty masses on her shoulders. She 
had a graceful, well-developed figure which looked 
charming in its white petticoat and fine lawn camisole 
through which her flowered silk corsets showed. If 
Mr. Ellestree lacked in his devotion to the more private 
details of his toilette, Mrs. Ellestree compensated by 
her punctilious daintiness. 

“I’ve had a letter about that niece of mine.” 

“A niece, Tom? I didn’t know you had one.” 

“Yes. Brought her up. Father and mother died 
when she was a kid and I was the only one who’d got 
enough oof to keep her. I put her in a family in 
Birmingham. Good school there.” 

“And have you been helping her all these years?” 

Mrs. Ellestree was more accustomed to her husband’s 
reticence than to evidence of such generosity. She 
came a little further into the room. Her face showed 
that she was both surprised and touched. 

“Oh lord no. Only kept her till she could support 
herself. She got herself a berth when she was fifteen, 
thank goodness. It was a bit of a struggle in those 
days to keep myself, let alone a growing girl.” 

“I think it was splendid of you. Why don’t you 
tell me these things.” 

Susan put her arms about her husband’s shoulder. 
He moved away. 

“Nothin’ to tell. Your breakfast ’ll be cold.” 

“You’re not an affectionate husband, Tom.” 


CONFLICT 


39 


Tom unfolded the newspaper. 

"Put your hair up and sit down. Here ! Take the 
letter. It’s from the solicitor of the firm she works 
for. She's had brain-fever and is ordered six months 
rest.” 

"Good gracious ! Does that mean we have got to 
have her?” 

“Suppose so. Get dressed.” 

Susan took the letter and went out reading it. 
When she returned, her husband had finished and 
was sending clouds of smoke across the table. She 
laid her hand upon his shoulder good-temperedly as 
she gave him back the letter. 

“Poor girl ; she seems to have had a bad time of it. 
I should think I’d better go down and arrange for 
her to stay somewhere. There must be plenty of 
convalescent homes for cases of this kind.” 

Susan took her seat behind the coffee-machine. 
She had slipped into a fresh white wrapper, tied with 
a big blue bow beneath her arms. An embroidered 
muslin collar gave her an early-Victorian look which 
was enhanced by the simplicity of her hair, rippling 
over the temples and brushed smoothly into a knot 
behind. She looked eminently womanly and com- 
forting. There was a wise serenity of atmosphere 
emanating from her. Close observation might have 
perceived a certain dominance in the blue eyes and 
rather large aquiline nose, but the warmness of her 
heart and the frank honesty of her nature made people 
forgive her motherly autocracy. 

She drank her coffee and lighted a cigarette. It 
was impossible to eat breakfast in the fumes of Tom’s 
tobacco. She leaned her elbows on the table, the 
cigarette between two daintily manicured fingers. 

“Well, Tom?” 

Tom put down his newspaper and tapped his pipe 
upon the breakfast-cloth. 

“Oh Tom, Tom ! Do use a plate !” 


40 


CONFLICT 


In spite of her philosophy which accepted her 
husband’s ways, as irrevocable, Susan Ellestree was 
moved, sometimes to housewifely annoyance. 

Her husband began to clean his pipe unheeding. 

‘'She’s coming here.” 

“But there isn’t a room!” 

“She can have mine.” 

“And where will you be?” 

“America.” 

“America!” 

“Yes. I am going at the end of this month.” 

“For how long?” 

“Oh, I dunno. Three months. Perhaps longer. 
Can’t tell till I get there.” 

Mrs. Ellestree kept silence while she struggled for 
serenity. She had been married for seven years and 
had not yet become immured to her husband’s 
reticence. She had learnt by bitter experience she 
must not show any resentment, however, and when 
she spoke, her voice had regained its normal calm. 

“When did you know?” 

“Oh, I dunno. Some time ago.” 

Susan rose abruptly and walked to the fire-place. It 
was hard to maintain composure. She was successful 
in controlling herself. She turned round frankly. 

“Tom, couldn’t I come too? I’d love it so. I’ve 
longed to go to America all my life and I can amuse 
myself. I shouldn’t be a worry to you.” 

Mr. Ellestree was relighting his pipe ; he concluded 
the operation without excessive haste, then lay back, 
sucking at it. He was not a beautiful object. 

“Out of the question !” 

The finality of his tone showed that dispute was 
hopeless; yet Susan could not see this desire aban- 
doned without a struggle. 

“Why ! I could be so useful packing and attending 
to your things; and I wouldn’t expect to be taken 
about. I can’t stop here alone; people will say such 


CONFLICT 


4i 

things. You really ought to take me there with you. 
There’s no reason why you shouldn’t!’ 

“Yes there is. I may be only there for a few 
weeks and have to race all over the country. It 
wouldn’t be worth the expense. Besides, there may 
be a big opening out there and I must be free or I 
shan’t do myself justice. If I stay, of course I’ll send 
for you. But I can’t risk taking you and having you 
on my hands. Business is business.” 

Susan swallowed down her disappointment. Tom 
had spoken quite reasonably, and with more con- 
sideration than his wont. He did not often condescend 
to explanations. 

Still, being human, in spite of her philosophy she 
could not, nor did she try to, suppress an acerbity 
which had been lacking in her tone before. 

“What are you going to do about the flat?” 

“ ’Fraid I shall have to keep it on. I’ve been seeing 
if I could get out of the lease, but it doesn’t look 
likely. Besides, you’ll have to live somewhere.” 

“Still I don’t know that I should choose to live in 
London all the summer when there’s no need to.” 

“I thought of that. Perhaps you can let the flat 
later. In the meantime — and there’ll be my room to 
spare — you’d better have this girl up, Mary.” 

“Your niece! The typewriter!” 

Surprise precluded comment. Mrs. Ellestree’s eyes 
were turned in cold amazement on her husband. 

“Yes.” Mr. Ellestree’s jaw stiffened in a way which 
foretold trouble. “You can’t be here by yourself. 
You must have some woman with you. This girl has 
money of her own now, and can pay her share of the 
expenses.” 

The concluding argument was a sound one. Mrs. 
Ellestree was forced to admit it, albeit unwillingly. 
She was an extravagant woman and money was of 
considerable moment in their menage. 

“It will be a great bore.” 


42 


CONFLICT 


Mr. Ellestree was collecting his letters; he rose 
with them, and made a ponderous exit towards the 
bedroom, his dressing-gown flapping untidily about 
his heels. 

“You must have a woman with you, Sue,” he 
repeated. “I know you’ll be up to no harm, but 
other people don’t; and I don’t choose that my wife 
shall be talked about. Just write to this man Hum- 
phry and tell him we’ll take her for two pounds a 
week, this day fortnight. I don’t see any point in 
your going down to Birmingham. It’s too big a 
fare.” 

The door closed and Mr. Ellestree proceeded to the 
later details of his toilette. 

Mrs. Ellestree remained where she was, her chin 
upon her clasped hands, her elbows on the table. Her 
sleeves were tucked above her elbow, milkmaid fashion, 
and showed two charming arms. Her full bosom rose 
and fell rather tumultuously beneath its transparent 
muslin covering. A discontented shadow rested in 
the blue eyes ; the lips had hardened disagreeably. 

Mrs. Ellestree was face to face with her position in 
life, and she did not like the sight of it. When one 
has a soul attuned to all the dancing glory of the 
world, it is hard to be continually thrust back into its 
sordidity. It seemed to Susan that her whole life was 
one of visions seen behind impenetrable bars. She 
longed for beauty, comfort, change — all the glorious 
things that money sets free ; and she was locked in a 
tiny flat, the chattel of a commonplace, indifferent 
husband. 

She struggled to build her life into contentment; 
but every now and then the edifice would totter. Tom 
was not an ideal companion, but she would miss him 
dreadfully. She would have nothing to live for with 
him away. Susan was the genuine mother-woman ; 
she must have some one dependent on her care, or life 
seemed purposeless. 


CONFLICT 


43 


And she wanted so passionately to see America. 
It had been her dream from girlhood, when she and 
her little brother read of the wonderful homage men 
paid to women there. Ferroll had longed to go and 
make his fortune. Fortunes were made so easily in 
America. She had longed to go to be treated as a 
goddess. They had planned that Susan should marry 
some one who would take them. 

Now the dream had come half-true, as dreams have 
a knack of doing. Her husband was going; but she 
must stay behind. Susan drew a deep sigh and 
pulled her philosophy around her. It was no good 
worrying about what could not be helped. She must 
hope that Tom would get on, and would send for her. 
He was clever in his own line and would probably 
succeed. 

Susan was used to putting her own wishes on one 
side in obedience to the desires of other people. She 
had brought up a brother with an artistic temperament, 
and had married a husband who had the habits of a 
confirmed bachelor. The brother held woman in ideal- 
istic reverence, the husband despised them; as both 
brother and husband shared the belief in the Godhead 
of man, the result came to much the same for prac- 
tical purposes. As sister and wife Susan had had 
excellent practice in reunuciation. 

She rose and began to put the breakfast things 
upon the tray, ready for the maid to carry to the 
kitchen. She was interrupted by an early morning 
visitor. It was Rosalys Benton, her closest woman 
friend. 

“I couldn’t help dropping in !” 

“My dear, what an age since I’ve seen you! How 
well you’re looking! When did you come back?” 

“Yesterday.” 

“Good tour?” 

“Perfect. Wonderful notices and such houses!” 

Rosalys sank upon the sofa, casting back her furs. 


44 


CONFLICT 


She was a big woman, with a Greek face and the 
heart of a child. She was so emotional that life would 
have been impossible had she any imagination. For- 
tunately for her this was entirely lacking. 

She lived in the moment, adored food, clothes and 
flowers, fell in love at a minute’s notice, and had only 
one fear in the world, that of getting fat. 

She had had two husbands who had been “brutal” 
to her, but had been “good fellows” and allowed her 
to divorce them. She upheld marriage, as the most 
comfortable condition in a foolishly censorious world. 
She had not left the path of respectability by any 
means and loved being seen with Mrs. Ellestree who 
wos conveniently broad-minded and yet unimpeachably 
domestic. 

Rosalys, in short, belonged to the class of actress 
who is still on debatable ground, whose friends can 
defend them with a certain percentage of honesty, and 
whom people ask to their houses and gossip of behind 
their backs. She shared the picture-postcard record 
with Gaiety beauties, and drew a large salary for 
appearing in parts where she had to be maternal or 
passionate in Paquin gowns. 

Rosalys’ volcanic friendship was one of Mrs. Elles- 
tree’s chief pleasures. Round her was the sensuous 
easy atmosphere for which Susan’s soul hungered. 
Money was plentiful with Rosalys and she spent it 
abundantly. Her parties at the smart hotels were 
famous. 

She was equally bountiful with her affection : and 
to Susan, affection was the breath of life. She knew 
that Rosalys lavished as warm caresses on her spaniel 
as on her, but she was not critical where love was 
concerned. She never met Rosalys without feeling 
warmed and cheered. 

“And how’s Tom?” 

“Very well. He’ll be in directly. He’s going to 
America.” 


CONFLICT 45 

“America! Oh, Sue! How lovely for you! You’ll 
adore it.” 

“Oh, but I’m not going. It’s only a business trip.” 

“But he ought to take you with him. He must. You 
must make him!” 

“I’m afraid I can’t. There are several reasons why 
I have to stay at home. Tom has a niece who has 
had brain-fever and whom he wants me to look after. 
He brought her up when she was a child, and he was 
a boy struggling to make his living. You know, one 
never knows how good Tom really is.” 

When the record of Susan Ellestree’s faults and 
virtues is written up, I think the recording angel will 
outweigh all the faults for that one rare virtue, loyalty. 
Those who depended on Susan might trust in her un- 
wavering championship, however badly they behaved 
— even to her. Tom was a selfish and indifferent 
husband, but not one of Susan’s friends had ever 
heard her breathe a word against him. When they 
did, as Ferroll said, Susan would not be Susan. 

“But you aren’t going to be saddled with an 
invalid ?” 

“Poor girl : she has no one to look after her but us. 
She’s earned her own living ever since she was fifteen. 
She’s been a typewriter.” 

“Oh, my dear, how awful. She’s not going to come 
here?” 

“Yes. She’ll have Tom’s room when he goes.” 

“Well, I’ve always said you’re an angel, Sue, 
but this beats everything. I loathe those working 
women, their hair is done so badly and they look so 
intelligent.” 

Mrs. Ellestree bit her lips. Tom’s niece belonged to 
his camp and she must protect her. 

“Don’t be so silly, Rosalys. What are you but a 
working woman?” 

“The stage is different. I’m an artist. Just imagine 
if the girl was anything like Tom !” 


CONFLICT 


46 

“You are speaking of my husband, Rosalys.” 

“I know, pet. It’s a shame, but I can't help it!” 
Rosalys swooped across the hearth-rug and threw 
herself on her knees by Mrs. Ellestree’s chair. She 
put her arms about her, looking up with adoring 
appreciation. 

“You sweet, darling thing! It’s wicked for you to 
be wasted on a man like Tom. Yes, wasted. It’s 
a crime that you haven’t a devoted husband. You 
know Tom isn’t that. He hasn’t the aesthetic sense 
to admire you as you ought to be admired. The life 
you’re leading is wicked and unnatural. He doesn’t 
satisfy your nature. I see it in your eyes. They’re 
starved for want of love. Oh, Susan, if you could 
only meet a man who really loved you !” 

“You seem to overlook the fact that I’m married 
to Tom.” 

“Other women have been married unhappily, and 
have found a way out.” 

“I’m afraid I’m not that sort of woman. Besides, 
I’m not unhappily married as marriage goes. Tom 
gives me everything he can.” 

“Except love.” 

“My dear, all temperaments aren’t as emotional as 
ours. Tom has very little passion in his nature, and 
what intensity he has goes into his work. Tom is a 
very good husband to me.” 

“Why, I’ve never seen him kiss you !” 

“Kisses aren’t everything. If I were ever in trouble 
I should always go to Tom. Think how wonderful 
he’s been to Ferroll. Very few men would have 
opened their homes to their wife’s brother as Tom 
has opened his to Ferroll. I shall always be grateful 
to him for that. As for affection : I know he’s not 
demonstrative, and don’t expect it from him. We 
can’t have everything we want. 

“Oh, be honest, Sue ! Is there anything you want 
except love — real, satisfying, man’s love ? Kisses 


CONFLICT 


47 


aren’t everything? They mayn’t be, but they’re the 
things a woman wants most — to be kissed by a man 
who loves her.” 

“Hush, Rosalys! I must be content with my life 
as it is. For one thing, I must keep a home for 
Ferroll. As long as I’m married to Tom, he’ll always 
have one.” 

“You are good, Sue. You live for other people.” 

“Nonsense! Ferroll is more like my child than a 
brother. He needs me so.” 

“What’s he doing now ?” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him for 
nearly a year. But he’ll walk in some day when he’s 
down on his luck and wants help and comfort. He’s 
writing now. I read a charming story of his in last 
month’s Scribner's. He is improving so. I am certain 
he’ll do something big one day. After all, he’ll only 
twenty-six.” 

“Excuses for every one. Ferroll’s behaved 
disgracefully to you after all you’ve done for 
him.” 

“Hush ! Ferroll’s sacred. I won’t let any one say 
a word against him. His faults are the faults of his 
temperament. He wouldn’t be Ferroll if he wasn’t 
his own free self.” 

“Well, I can surely speak of him, considering what 
Ferroll and I have been to one another. If I saw 
him again I should adore him just as much. He’s so 
full of youth ! Oh, Susan, isn’t it awful to think of 
getting old? Elsie says my waist has spread an inch. 
What am I to do? I’m eating raw meat now, and 
drinking four pints of hot water daily. I shall die 
of it!” 

“You look very well !” 

“But I feel . . . ugh! What do you do to keep 
your figure? It’s exquisite! I’d give anything to 
be as supple and strong as you. It’s wicked for 
you not to have a lover — a real . . . man . . . who 


4 8 


CONFLICT 


had strength enough to care. madly for you . . . not 
a frog-minded tape-machine like ...” 

“’Shi” 

Tom was entering, tail-coated and hatted. He 
bestowed a curt nod on Rosalys, and demanded the 
clothes-brush. Susan accompanied him into the hall 
and found it for him. 

“Shall you be home to dinner?” 

“Yes.” 

“What time?” 

“Can’t say.” 

“About eight?” 

“You’d better have it ready before that.” 

“Half-past seven?” 

“I can’t say exactly. Don’t keep me waiting, that’s 
all ; and don’t let it be cold !” 

Tom departed, having left this easy, wifely task. 
Susan closed the door on him with her customary 
philosophy. Husbands must be accepted with the 
other ills of life! 

There was a distinct relief in the atmosphere on 
Tom’s departure. Rosalys acknowledged it without 
ado. 

“That’s a comfort. Now you can come off with 
me. We’ll lunch at the Savoy. They have a new 
chef , who they say’s a dream of joy !” 

“I’d love to come.” 

The two women went into Susan’s bedroom while 
she changed into a walking-frock. Rosalys threw 
herself into the arm-chair, languorous and lovely, her 
sables sweeping round her. Mrs. Ellestree regarded 
her somewhat curiously as she unfastened her wrapper. 

“Happiness is very unequally divided. You never 
want anything, do you, Rosalvs?” 

“Oh, my dear!” Rosalys lifted her muff into the 
air tragically. “Want anything! I am consumed 
with longing at the present moment. I am pining 
for a man whom I can never have — an impossible 


CONFLICT 49 

brute, whom I ought to hate. I met him last night 
— Simeon Cuvier.” 

“Cuvier?” Mrs. Ellestree put herself into a short 
skirt thoughtfully. “Ought I to have heard of 
him?” 

“My dear, you must have done! He’s the man 
who gave Billie Button her pearls and that gorgeous 
Panhard. Isn’t it wicked what these vaudeville 
housemaids get! Men never spend anything on us. 
I’m sure I’ve told you about Cuvier. He was the 
wretch that did for poor little Carrie Ray. I heard 
the story from herself. I’ll tell it you some day. He’s 
a perfect devil, but the most magnetic creature you 
ever saw, with those fascinating eyes that won’t open 
properly, and a wicked smile in the corners of his 
mouth. My dear, he’s so magnetic, that, knowing all 
I know of him, I’d give anything in this world to 
have that man love me.” 

Mrs. Ellestree adjusted a neat bow beneath her 
chin, smiling quietly. 

“You probably will effect it, with a little perse- 
verance.” 

“Oh, my dear, he won’t trouble to make love to 
any one but a chorus girl or housemaid: he never 
will take on a woman who has any intelligence!” 
Rosalys possessed a great store of unconscious 
humour. As a “star” of no small dimensions, she 
considered herself as a priestess of the sacred flame 
of Drama, and spoke and thought of her “Art” as 
seriously as of her gowns or dinner. “No, I did all 
I knew, I assure you, and left him as cold as I found 
him. He’s inhuman.” 

“I should like to meet him.” 

Mrs. Ellestree took up her muff, and they went 
downstairs. Rosalys’ victoria was waiting, luxuri- 
ously rugged and cushioned. Mrs. Ellestree lay back 
with a contented sigh. The wind blew on her face 
refreshingly. 


50 


CONFLICT 


“Life is a lovely thing,” said she. “Oh, Rosalys, 
every one’s cup must be held out once to them.” 

Rosalys put out her hand impulsively. 

“Be brave enough to drink,” she said. “I’m taking 
a bungalow at Cookham this summer. Tom will be 
away. You shall come down and meet people.” 

“The niece will be here, though.” 

“She can come as well. I must have you. You 
shall have a summer, Susan. You shall have a 
summer !” 

“You are a silly woman, Rosalys,” said Mrs. Elles- 
tree, with truth. 


CHAPTER VI 

“ Watch out thy watch.” 

R. Browning. 

Two women lingered over dinner, coffee in 
translucent cups before them. The older woman 
was smoking, and the blue wreaths circled about her 
head, like incense round a goddess. 

Mary van Heyten was gazing at her with frank 
admiration. Mrs. Ellestree was a revelation to the 
business girl. 

Mary had arrived at the flat the day after her 
uncle’s departure for America. She was slowly 
recovering. Responsibility had vanished from her 
immediate vision; she had sense enough to realise 
that she must obey the doctor’s mandate and give 
up work and worry till her health was restored. 
Mrs. Ellestree’s ignorance of her position helped her. 
Mary found herself looked on as a lonely little clerk, 
who must be comforted and gently educated in life’s 
refinements. It was so refreshingly novel to be taken 
care of that Mary bowed to Mrs. Ellestree’s rule with- 
out much demur. For one thing, she was physically 
and mentally exhausted; for another she must carry 
out Mr. Berryfield’s obvious wish and preserve the 
secret of her position ; and lastly Mrs. Ellestree had 
captured her fancy utterly. 

The women were mutually attracted. Though their 
temperaments were widely different they recognised 
like qualities of honesty and frankness in one another. 


52 


CONFLICT 


Besides Mrs. Ellestree missed Tom more than she 
had expected: she found that custom had made his 
surly voice and untidy habits not only bearable but 
dear; she felt a blank, and Mary helped to fill it, 
while Mary’s vivid interest in everything in the new 
life, the freshness of her zest for London, the bright- 
ness of her intellect made ciceroneship a pleasure, 
and Mary’s independence and her indifference to the 
world’s conventions intensified the flattery of the girl’s 
unstinted homage. 

As for Mary, she had never met a woman to whom 
womanhood was a calling in itself : Mrs. Ellestree was 
a mistress of the art. Her elegance was a source of 
constant surprise and pleasure. For in the world which 
Mrs. Ellestree inhabited, the aesthetic side of life seemed 
to be of paramount importance: emotions blossomed 
beautifully as roses. Here pleasure was everybody’s 
lode-star: in Mary’s world, duty and necessity drove 
pleasure from one’s vision. A world full of luxury, 
idleness, and warm affection, where Mary’s nature 
unfolded unexpectedly, developing both tenderness 
and gaiety. The girl who sat at the dinner-table 
was not the girl who worked a typewriter at Berry- 
field’s. Her face, still pale, was full of awakened 
vitality. The worried lines were smoothed away ; her 
mouth had softened, her eyes brightened. 

They were both enjoying the peace of the tete- 
a-tete. 

Mrs. Ellestree was the first to speak. 

“Well, what are you thinking of?” 

Mary came back with a start and a sigh. 

“I was wondering how long it would be before I 
could go back to work.” 

“Isn’t that the forbidden subject?” 

“I can’t help worrying sometimes.” 

“Which is why you fell ill. Women have no sense 
of proportion: that’s why they’re so unfitted for. a 
business life,” 


CONFLICT 53 

“But I am fitted for one. Eminently!” Mary’s 
chin tip-tilted controversially. 

“Hush, hush, hush !” Mrs. Ellestree lifted her hand 
in firm reproof. “You know what the doctor said. 
Three months’ perfect rest; and if you aren’t good 
it will be longer.” 

Mary half-bit her lip, then her common-sense 
reasserted itself. 

“I will try: only it seems so wrong to be doing 
nothing but enjoy myself.” 

“You are learning a great deal also. Do you know 
you might become a most charming girl?” 

The news did not bring the pleased blush to Mary’s 
cheek which Mrs. Ellestree expected. 

If Mrs. Ellestree were strange to Mary’s ken, Mary 
was an equally new experience to Mrs. Ellestree. She 
in her turn had never met a girl with no vanity at all 
about her personal appearance. Mary treated the 
question with absolute indifference as if charm were 
not for her, and so she did not trouble about it. 

“Don’t you want to be charming?” 

“Oh, I dunno !” Mary leaned her chin on her 
hand, her eyes full of thought. It occurred to Mrs. 
Ellestree that Mary did possess a certain attraction. 
The square chin and clearly chiselled nose gave her 
a look of resolution which was deepened by the widely 
set grey eyes, brave and staunch under the level brows. 
Her mouth had a serious expression, as though the 
girl were driving untold forces back — an interesting 
face to watch; to provoke; to soften. 

“There are lots of other things I want to be.” 

“What?” 

“Brave; clever; self-reliant; strong; successful.” 
Mary’s ideals came forth in a clipped fashion. 

“You can be all these things and still be 
charming.” 

“I suppose so; but being charming seems the 
least important.” Mary straightened herself from 


CONFLICT 


54 

her abstraction and found Mrs. Ellestree smiling in 
rather an amused fashion. 

“Have you ever been in love, Mary?” 

The colour which rushed to the girl’s face showed 
that Miss van Heyten was not experienced in the 
sentiment. 

“Good gracious, no.” 

“Has any one ever been in love with you?” 

“I shouldn’t think so.” Mary’s tone was frank 
in its contempt. “I always kept out of the office 
foolishness.” 

“That explains a good deal,” said Mrs. Ellestree 
quietly. 

Mary fidgeted. She felt she had been tried in the 
balance and found wanting. Secretly, she entertained 
a great respect for Mrs. Ellestree’s opinion. They 
were wholly novel opinions ; but they seemed to have 
wisdom in them. Presently the flag came down with 
a jerk. 

“How do you mean . . . charming?” 

“By being pleasant to look at, for one thing.” 

“I can’t help my looks.” 

“You can, though ! Greatly help them. You can be 
tidy, for instance. You need not spend a great deal 
of time or money on dress ; but every girl can put on 
bodices and skirts that match, and sew the braid on 
her skirt, and hook her blouses properly, and brush her 
hair well, and arrange it neatly.” 

Mary fingered her coffee-spoon, somewhat dashed. 

“I suppose I could, now,” said she with unwilling 
acquiescence. “I’ve always been too busy.” 

“Oh, dear, dear! You women who work,” said Mrs. 
Ellestree. “Why will you lose your femininity ?” 

“You don’t lose it from choice,” said Mary. She 
was looking out through the night-filled window with 
a rather queer expression. It was easy to lay down 
laws for the protection of woman’s charm, in this 
restful long-dayed life, but her mind dwelt on the 


CONFLICT 


55 

conditions of the life where girlhood toiled, and studied 
so that it might toil to more advantage. 

“If you are nothing but a hack/' said she, “you 
haven’t the spirit to deck yourself out. The things 
you think of are rent and doctor’s bills and saving 
for a sick fund. There isn’t room for vanity; life is 
too desperate. If you’re wondering how you’re going 
to get your next meal, you don’t care whether you 
will look pretty eating it. If you knew the feeling of 
being absolutely alone, with no one to care whether 
you live or die, or are hungry, or clothed at all, you 
wouldn’t sneer at working women.” 

“I don’t sneer, dear !” 

Mrs. Ellestree put her hand on Mary’s with a tender 
impulse. “I pity them with all my heart.” 

Mary withdrew her hand rather curtly. 

“Well, we pity you, too,” she said unexpectedly. 
“Pity you awfully. We do keep ourselves. We 
haven’t to obey any one. And if we have to spend 
a lot of time in getting our speed up on a typewriter, 
there’s no more drudgery in that than in knitting ; and 
we get paid for it.” 

Mrs. Ellestree was smiling openly, she crossed to 
the sofa with her knitting bag, pausing to lay her 
hand on Mary’s shoulder. 

“Oh, my dear, my dear,” said she, “we’re all 
dependent on one another, whether we are in an 
office or a home. If you modern women could only 
see how foolish your independence is, you would 
understand why we old-fashioned women hate its 
ugliness.” 

Mary was silent. Mrs. Ellestree took up her 
knitting, serene and fair, bending her head over the 
moving needles. 

A sudden bitterness came over Mary. She pushed 
back her chair roughly, and rose, her hands tucked in 
her belt, her chin tilted defiantly. 

“I’d like to know where I’d have been without my 


CONFLICT 


56 

independence,” she said abruptly. “I was brought 
into the world without any provision for my keep. 
Uncle Tom didn’t want me. He had to pay out 
money for me which he could ill afford ; had to 
curtail his pleasure and his wants. He let me know 
that. I had to earn my living. I had no time to 
study how to be a charming woman. I had to study 
how to get my bread. Well, I’ve done it. But I 
should like to have seen Uncle Tom’s face if I’d 
told him my first duty was to be charming, and his 
duty to provide the money for my keep and adornment 
so that I could be it.” 

“ Yours is an exceptional case.” 

“Not a bit. The other girls in my office had men- 
folk of some kind: but their brothers didn’t offer to 
divide their salaries with them: their fathers didn’t 
offer them allowances. If they wanted things, they 
had to go out and earn the money for them; and I 
believe brothers, and fathers, and uncles have always 
been the same. Look at their sports, and clubs, and 
bars, and music-halls. Their womenkind put up with 
it: they didn’t expect men to give them anything 
unless the men were in love with them, and wanted 
the women to be pleased with them. But the old 
maids, and the sisters, and the daughters didn’t get 
too much consideration or generosity. Where would 
have been my self-respect and dignity if I hadn’t 
worked? Now, I feel I’ve a right in the world.” 

“My dear, I think you’ve been splendid. But I’m 
only sorry that you haven’t had a happier life.” 

“It has been happy !” 

“Very well then. I am sorry you have lost so 
much.” 

Mary’s cheeks flamed at the quiet words. 

“One can’t have everything. What have I lost?” 

Mrs. Ellestree was not used to such a stubborn 
show: she spoke slowly, dropping in each word with 
extra weight. 


CONFLICT 


57 

“All that makes woman dear to man — gentleness, 
grace, obedience, dependence.” 

“I have other qualities.” 

“Men do not value them without the others. Wait 
till you meet a man who attracts you! You will give 
all your independence then to see him look at you as 
a man looks at a woman who gives him what he wants 
from womanhood.” 

Mary remained still, her hands in her belt, one knee 
upon the chair. Uncomfortable belief was growing. 
She recalled the anguish of the moment when a certain 
young man’s eyes had looked down into hers and she 
had seen pity in them. She would never see him 
again, of course, and he mattered nothing to her: yet 
the memory was a bitter one. She felt with terrible 
conviction that she had lost the grace of womanhood. 

Then a new light came into her eyes. The defiance 
in her bearing intensified. Mary was nothing if not 
militant ! 

“I have gained a lot of good in the struggle; and 
if men don’t want courage, honesty and honour in 
women they ought to. Any rate, prettiness and 
gentleness aren’t as important in the life I have to 
lead, and that is the thing I must attend to.” 

“Come here,” said Mrs. Ellestree. 

Mary knelt down by the sofa. Mrs. Ellestree 
pushed back her hair, and looked into the angry 
eyes. 

“I have grown very fond of you,” said she. “I 
don’t discount your splendid qualities one bit; but I 
want you to be happy and there is only one way in 
which a woman can be happy. That is through love 
of man and motherhood. It is what we are created 
for, and as we can only gain our joy by pleasing man, 
we must make ourselves what he wishes. Beauty 
attracts him most : so however difficult our life is, we 
must never let that go. Charm attracts him, pretty 
manners, a sweet voice, soothing words; so we must 


58 


CONFLICT 


keep ourselves charming. Oh, my dear, it is hard on 
the working woman, but it is worth any sacrifice to 
gain the love of man.” 

“Is that all he wants from us?” Mary’s eyes were 
searching. The older woman drew her breath in 
sharply. 

“He wants very much from us. Our trust, and 
worship, and obedience, and if we do not feel these 
things, we must pretend we do. Nothing angers a 
man so much as feeling we do not trust his own 
valuation of himself. We must never let him know 
that we see through his pretensions and view him 
simply as a human creature, equal to ourselves. It 
is worth it. He is the only thing, you see, we want; 
but he wants many other things, so it is hard to win 
and keep him. We cannot afford to lose any weapon.” 

“He does not spend his time making himself 
beautiful or charming to win us.” 

“He does not want us as we want him. His desires 
are divided: we have only one.” 

Mary drew back suddenly. 

“/ want other things than man,” said she. “I have 
other duties to perform than pleasing him. And I 
would never give myself to a man who only desired 
to be pleased and soothed by me. He must want 
me to be brave, and strong, and good, as I should 
want him to be : he must love me for all that is best 
in me ; and if a man were great enough to deserve 
worship, he wouldn’t care whether I worshipped him 
or not. It’s only vanity and weakness that make men 
insist on being worshipped. We ought not to en- 
courage it in them. We are being unfair to them by 
pretending to trust and worship them for the sake of 
pleasing them.” 

The elder woman put her arm round the girl and 
drew her to her. 

“Oh, my dear, my dear!” said she. “How little 
you know of life. I wouldn’t alter your ideals for 


CONFLICT 


59 


anything: but don’t expect too much from man. No 
man has that to give which you are asking for. He 
is born to use us as he ordains. We must be strong 
to endure his neglect, but we must not grow strong 
enough to do without him if he will not meet us on 
equal ground. He hates us then, and leaves us to 
loneliness, despised of all our fellows.” 

“Then he is ignoble,” said Mary. 

“He is all there is, my dear,” said Mrs. Ellestree, 
“we’ve got to make the best of him!” 

“But do we ?” said Mary : she sat back on the 
hearth-rug. “Don’t you think you consider his 
opinions too much? We respect him because of 
his independence. Don’t you think he might respect 
us equally if we were independent? Men consider 
gentleness and self-sacrifice the attributes of woman- 
hood, but it seems to me that women think selfishness 
and cruelty necessary to manhood! Well, I don't! 
I think better of men. I expect them to be braver, 
more honourable, more self-controlled, more capable, 
and more unselfish than myself, and I will never give 
myself to a man who isn’t!” 

Mary’s eyes were flashing: her face was uplifted 
like a young knight throwing down the glove before 
the world. Mrs. Ellestree looked affectionately on the 
slight young figure : a smile lit her face. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a long time,” said 
she. “But keep your faith as long as you can. I 
wouldn’t destroy it for the world.” 

There was a note of experience in the older 
woman’s voice which chilled the girl. She sat down 
on the fender stool, her hands stretched out on it on 
eithere side of her. 

“It’s funny,” said she. “I never wanted or expected 
anything like that before I came here. Now . . . 
you’ve made me want so much. I believe I do want 
to have charm: only I value the other things most. 
Tell me what is wrong with me,” 


6o 


CONFLICT 


“Your frocks, your hats, your hair,” said Mrs. 
Ellestree promptly. “I am longing to make a pretty 
woman out of you.” 

“Could you ?” Mary spoke with rueful humour. 

“You wait and see!” I shall take you to Camille’s 
to-morrow and order some little muslin frocks. I’ve 
some beautiful Valenciennes which she shall put on 
collars for you. And for hats. Well, you shall have 
my white one with a new bow — we’ll get it to-morrow. 
You mustn’t wear flowers or feathers: you must go 
in for exquisite simplicity. I must get you some 
shoes too, and silk stockings. You shall buy those 
yourself.” 

“I shall buy them all myself.” 

“No, no, no. The frocks and hats must be my little 
present. I’ve just had a big cheque from Tom. Let 
me do this for you, dear. It will be such pleasure 
to me. I shall feel as if you’re my own daughter.” 

“Oh, you’re so good to me!” 

Mary dropped on her knees again, in a passion of 
gratitude. Mrs. Ellestree' held her hand trustingly. 

“I love having some one to take care of. It’s like 
the old Ferroll days. You’ve never seen Ferroll, have 
you ?” 

“Your brother?” 

“Yes. Poor Ferroll !” 

“Why do you say ‘poor ?’ ” 

“He is always seeing stars, and reaching up his 
hands to them ; and finding they are only bits of tin.” 

“What is he?” 

“A wanderer! He has a devil of adventure which 
never lets him stay long anywhere. He’s very clever 
though, and always falls on his feet: and when times 
are bad, he comes here.” 

The tenderness in Mrs. Ellestree’s voice showed 
there was always a welcome waiting. 

“Is he like you?” 

“We’re like and unlike. Ferroll has always been 


CONFLICT 


61 


taken care of, and I’ve always taken care! Naturally, 
such conditions have developed us differently. He 
hasn’t had to restrain himself. Life gives him what 
he asks for.” 

“What is that?” 

“Experience, excitement, adventure, love.” 

“Is he married?” 

“Married ? Good heavens, no ! He’s only twenty- 
six. He’ll never marry. No woman will keep him: 
and all will love him. He would be a spoilt child, 
only his nature is so sweet that nothing can spoil it.” 

“You love him very much !” Mary was gazing up 
into the woman’s face, almost in awe. 

“Love him !” 

An expression of pride, devotion and affection 
illumined Susan Ellestree’s face. 

“He is everything to me. He has always been 
everything.” 

“It must be good to be loved like that !” 

Mrs. Ellestree touched the girl’s hair with a quick 
gesture. 

“I love you too. Ferroll has left me now ; you are 
filling his place as no one else has done, not even 
Tom.” 

“I’m so glad,” said Mary. “You’ve been so kind. 
I shall always remember and be grateful. You’ve 
changed the world for me.” 

Mrs. Ellestree kissed the upturned face. 

“I’m rather a lonely woman,” said she, “I’m glad 
you love me dear.” 

The girl did not answer. She had known little love, 
and was filled with gratitude and worship. In her 
soul she registered a prayer that some day Fate would 
let her show her gratitude. 


CHAPTER VII 


“ When I was a greenhorn, and young, 

And wanted to be and to do, 

I puzzled my brains about choosing my line, 

Till I found out the way that things go.” 

Charles Kingsley, The Fool's Song. 

Ferroll’s return was characteristic. Mrs. Ellestree 
arrived home tired out after a long afternoon’s shop- 
ping, and was greeted by the scent of her own special 
cigarettes. On entering she saw the tea-table pulled 
up to the sofa, and on the sofa reclined a boyish 
figure immersed in her last acquisition from the sunny 
shores of France. Ferroll, debonnaire, serene and com- 
fortable, had returned to the shelter of his sister’s 
roof. 

One of the most shamefully unfair things in life is 
the way in which prodigals are welcomed. It almost 
forces one to be inconsiderate in sheer self-defence. 
Ferroll accepted all things and made no attempt to 
repay even in the small coin of urbanity. He was 
as exacting in his ideals as he was careless of his 
responsibilities. He indulged in the luxury of 
absolute sincerity and did not attempt concealment 
of his prejudices. He was the most difficult of all 
people, if only because he was so utterly spontaneous ; 
and his egotism was even stronger than his sister’s. 

And yet his coming was the greatest joy vouch- 
safed to Susan Ellestree, and she went forward with a 
cry that told of all the longing in her heart, 

“Ferroll ! Oh Ferroll !” 

He put his hands upon her shoulders, and stood 
looking at her, humorous affection dancing in his eyes. 

“Well, Sue! You look very fit.” 

62 


CONFLICT 63 

“Do I? Oh, my dear, how glad I am to have you 
back. What have you been doing !” 

“Oh, I dunno.” 

Ferroll drew her down on to the sofa, slipping his 
arm in hers in a brotherly fashion. 

“So Tom's going to America, I’m sorry for that. I 
like Tom.” 

“He’s a dear old thing. I’m quite missing him.” 

“Yes. Your occupation’s gone, now, isn’t it. What 
are you doing with your married void ?” 

“As cranky as ever !” 

Mrs. Ellestree turned to her cigarette-box with a 
laugh that had a tinge of annoyance in it. Ferroll 
and she differed upon some subjects, he was full of 
theories, and all did not fit in with Mrs. Ellestree’s 
ideals of woman’s place and purpose. His tone now 
implied criticism of her leisure. 

She had always combatted his strenuous suggestions 
with the defence of wifely duties and submission. But 
Tom was not here now. 

She made haste to explain her further tie. 

“I’m very busy, all the same! I’m turning a 
typewriter into a woman ! It’s a wonderful thing 
to mould a soul, Ferroll ; and that’s really what I am 
doing.” 

“You mould a soul, Sue!” 

Mrs. Ellestree had risen and stood by the tea- 
table, pouring fresh water from the silver kettle. A 
perplexed light shone in her brother’s eyes. His 
forehead wrinkled as he watched her, imperviously 
self-pleased. 

“Don’t you think my influence would be a good 
one ?” 

Mrs. Ellestree queried with a smile that was wholly 
tolerant. She was so utterly serene in her goddess- 
like attitude that Ferroll felt a spasm of half-humorous 
irritation. He leant back suddenly, squashing his arm 
into the cushion. 


6 4 


CONFLICT 


“Good God, Susan! You make me want to throw 
things sometimes. You’re so dashed certain of your- 
self. Whom are you educating?” 

“Tom’s niece. A little clerk, who’s been starving in 
Birmingham all her life on thirty shillings a week. 
She overworked of course as women always do, and 
had brain-fever and I’ve had to take care of her. 
She’s just been left two hundred a year, so that she’s 
independent.” 

“And you’re moulding her.” 

“I’m teaching her the possibilities of womanhood,” 
said Mrs. Ellestree with a quiet dignity which would 
have impressed most people: only Ferroll writhed. 

“Your idea of woman’s possibilities?” 

“Yes. My idea,” Mrs. Ellestree answered. Her 
lips closed together rather obstinately. “The natural 
possibilities she was born with, not the intellectual ones 
theorists are providing for her now-a-days.” 

“Oh my dear Sue, will any one ever be able to 
convince you that fine qualities are as natural for 
women as for men.” 

“Have I ever disputed that?” 

“Your whole scheme of life disputes it!” 

“I didn’t know I had ever failed you, Ferroll.” 

“Dear old girl, you never have. Nor Tom either. 
But it’s yourself !” 

Ferroll leant forward, his hands clasped between his 
knees. His intensity made him seem older. 

“Oh, Sue, Sue, Sue! When I look at you and 
think of all your possibilities, and what you might 
have made out of your life and yourself if it hadn’t 
been for this cursed ideal of femininity you’ve been 
brought up to! 'A woman’s first duty is to look as 
beautiful as possible! To be atractive, to arrange 
her manners and opinions as to what pleases man.’ 
Not man like me, who loves companionship and 
individuality, but man who has to be lied to, and 
cozened, and made to feel that he is looked up to 


CONFLICT 65 

and is master. You’re a living example of intellectual 
woman spoilt by cowardice.” 

“My dear boy, all people don’t want to be intellec- 
tual. I prefer to be a woman.” 

“Yes, because you’re afraid men won’t like you if 
you use your abilities. You daren’t fill up your empty 
life with the work and interests you might have, 
because you’re afraid you’ll spoil your charm. Own it.” 

“I’m not afraid ; I am simply not attracted by all 
this platform shrieking and club life. I prefer to 
attend to my private duties and keep Tom’s home a 
home.” 

“Good heavens ! A home for Tom ! A comfort- 
able place for Tom ! His life’s spent in his clubs and 
round the tape-machine. What does he want from 
home ?” 

“He expects me to keep one for him: he married 
me for that. It’s no good, Ferroll. I’m the old- 
fashioned woman, who believes that woman was made 
for the comforting of man.” 

“Not his helpmate.” 

“We help most by being ourselves. Just restful.” 

“Oh, great Scott!” 

Ferroll turned impatiently. 

“ ‘Woman’s duty is to be woman.’ That means she’s 
to stagnate. She’s not to join the march of progress, 
not to free herself from uncongenial conditions so 
that she may develop her finest self! not to fulfil the 
duties of her citizenship. No! She’s to sit by the 
roadside, and keep her hands manicured and her face 
soft, so that when man turns from the fight he finds 
her waiting for his refreshment. That’s the plain 
sense of it, the plain, brutal, logical conclusion behind 
your talk. It isn’t pretty, is it? My country! When 
I see a woman like you with her face-woman and 
hair-doctor, and masseuse . . . and her dressmaker and 
milliner . . . it’s such a degradation of your intellect 
and soul, for those to be your greatest interests! 

5 


66 


CONFLICT 


You were brought up on the domestic drudge ideal: 
you’ve glorified it into that of the courtesan.” 

“Ferroll !” 

Mrs. Ellestree’s voice rang forth indignantly. There 
was a commanding note in it which stopped the 
impetuous words. 

“It’s a pity you came back if you’ve grown to think 
of me like that.” 

“No, dear. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, not 
exactly. It’s only because I think so much of you.” 

Ferroll had flung himself upon the rug before 
her. He knelt, holding her, his boyish face turned up 
towards hers, love and pity fighting with the strenuous- 
ness of his purpose. 

“You’re so wasted, Sue. You’ve such a mind and 
such a will, if you would only use them.” 

“I am using them in my own way. You can’t 
make everybody fit in to your pattern. I’ve my work 
to do in the world, and it seems as important to me 
as yours does to you. There must be some people 
who are passive forces. I try and exert an in- 
fluence on the people who come near me. Really 
that influence isn’t as trivial as you think. Why 
I am changing a whole life; warming a soul into 
existence !” 

“The clerk-girl?” 

“Yes. She’s only lived for work till now.” 

“I wonder what you’re teaching her !” 

“To make the best of herself. You should see how 
changed her face is. When she came, it was full of 
lines, though she is only twenty-four.” 

“And you’ve taken her to your face-doctor.” 

“I’ve doctored her heart, Ferroll.” 

Susan’s hair rested on his hair ; her eyes looked 
down on him with motherly tenderness. With a rush 
of remorse, he laid his head down in her lap, as in the 
old days when he had been naughty and ungrateful, 
and Susan had forgiven him. 


CONFLICT 


67 

“Dear old girl, I don’t forget what you have been 
to me. It’s only of yourself I think. Your life is 
lonely. You can’t be happy, with only Tom to think 
about. Tom who’s away now for God knows how 
long, and when he comes back — well, you know that 
you don’t count as you ought to count to him. And 
you’re so big and strong! There’s so much to you. 
Oh, Sue, you’ve so much love locked up within you, 
I get afraid sometimes. It’s dangerous to have as 
much vitality as you and I have, and nothing to work 
it off on.” 

“D’you think all these years haven’t taught me 
self-control? You forget my wisdom. I accept what 
is given to me and make my own contentment. 
Besides, I’m not lonely now even though Tom’s away. 
I have grown very, very fond of Mary. Her worship 
reminds me of you, in the old days when you weren’t 
grown up and clever, and didn’t criticise.” 

“Sue! Sue!” 

Mrs. Ellestree put her face against the soft, fair 
head, bowed upon the boy’s arms.” 

“Do you love me?” 

“Of course!” 

“Oh, Ferroll, that’s all I live for. To be loved! It 
hurts me when you grow away from me. You used to 
think me perfect, didn’t you?” 

“You’ve always been a perfect sister, anyway.” 

Ferroll raised his head and got up; he leant 
against the mantelpiece looking at her with a puzzled 
look. 

“Yes I’m right,” he said with a frown. “I know 
I’m right. Why won’t you use your brain and 
think.” 

“My dear, I am a woman; and you must let us 
judge what is right for ourselves,” said Mrs. Ellestree 
with a smile. “Come! don’t let’s waste time discuss- 
ing about things on which we shall never think 
ailke. You haven’t told me a thing that you’ve been 


68 CONFLICT. 

doing, or what your plans are or even where you’re 
staying.” 

"I’m at the 'Cecil.’ ” 

"Good gracious! Things are looking up, then!” 

"Rather. I’ve come over to find authors for a new 
American magazine. I met the editor in Paris. He 
took a fancy to me and when he found out what a lot 
of people I knew over here, he gave me the job. 
He’s paying all my ex.’s and ten pounds a week. 
Not bad, is it? These Americans! They’re the only 
nation who’ll pay for qualities. Here am I, an 
eternal spring of enthusiasm and belief, and no one’s 
ever made a bid for all that force until this man came 
along. And it’s worth buying, Sue. That’s the 
glorious part of it !” 

"My dear, I’m so glad. It’s splendid. How pleased 
Rosalys will be. We were talking about you only 
yesterday.” 

"Is she in town then?” 

"Yes. She’s going down to Cookham next week. 
She’s taken a house there for the summer.” 

"How is she ? Any fatter ?” 

Mrs. Ellestree smiled, preening her graceful figure 
with an involuntary movement. 

"Poor Rosalys! She’s worrying as much as ever 
about that. I don’t think she altered much. There’s 
her last photograph.” 

"She’s older. Those big women always age.” 
Ferroll put down the picture indifferently. 

"Ferroll, I could shake you sometimes. You’re so 
inhuman. When one thinks of how much you used 
to rave about her.” 

"My dear Susan, that was three years ago. I’m 
growing older every minute.” 

"Still you needn’t drop your friends.” 

"I don’t drop them: but I don’t keep them tied on 
to me. If I did, I couldn’t grow.” 

"I don’t like you to be so changeable.” 


CONFLICT 


69 


“I can’t help it. Growth means change. Can’t 
help it? I wouldn’t help it. I want to change. If 
the same things attracted me now that appealed to 
me three years ago, I should feel I had been stag- 
nating. Of course I’ve outgrown Rosalys. She 
satisfied a temporary need.” 

“You’re abominable.” 

Ferroll threw back his head with a peal of 
laughter. 

“You do hug sentiment,” said he good-humouredly. 
“You know* as well as I do that Rosalys has loved a 
dozen men since she and I enjoyed a temporary mad- 
ness. Yet you’d have me talk of her as I talked 
then: when I was a love-lorn young idiot who 
thought her the incarnate, natural woman. Oh, I’ve 
nothing against Rosalys. I’d like to see her, but I 
know what she is and what she’s worth.” 

“You make me shiver sometimes.” 

“Why? Because I’m truthful? Yes. I must 
come like a cold douche in this atmosphere of half- 
lights and emotions. Never mind. It’s tonical . . . 
Is that the bell ? Hang ! Do say you’re out.” 

“It’s Mary" 

“Must she come in ?” 

“Of course. She’ll be intensely interested.” 

“Dare say she will. Point is, I sha’n’t be.” 

“You are too selfish. Well dear, did vou find your 
way?” 

Mrs. Ellestree had turned towards the door, with a 
pleasant smile of welcome for the newcomer. 

“This is Ferroll. Ferroll, this is Mary, I suppose 
you must say Miss van Heyten.” 

Ferroll did not express any unwillingness at the 
restriction. His gaze rested on the insignificant 
figure with an indifference that felt the gene of her 
presence. He had so much to tell Sue. This stiff 
young woman spoiled the atmosphere. She had no 
allurement. His cold gaze saw evidence of Susan’s 


70 


CONFLICT 


taste in the French blouse and big straw hat, but 
the improvement did not interest him. He knew 
many women. Mary was unformed and awkward, 
a typical “provincial.” 

For all Ferroll’s theories, he demanded “personality” 
from woman — definite feminine personality. Mary’s 
stiff manner and unresponsive eyes chilled him. He 
was very like his sister in his temperament, though he 
would have indignantly denied the accusation. 

So he sat silent, and refused to expand to Susan’s 
questions. When Mary rose to depart, he opened the 
door with an alacrity which sent the blood flushing to 
the girl’s cheek. She went out of the room with her 
chin lifted very high, and a smarting sensation in her 
heart. She was not wanted. Every now and then 
she had that miserable sensation here. Mrs. Elles- 
tree was always kind, but her intimates showed that 
Mary’s presence was an intrusion. She did not 
belong to the easy, friendly atmosphere. 

She was right in her conjecture. Ferroll closed the 
door upon her, and leaned against it with a breath of 
relief. 

“That’s a comfort!” 

“I’m not pleased with you.” 

“Oh, but my dear Sue, the girl is a bit impossible.” 

“She’s one of your business women.” 

“I didn’t say I wanted women to work typewriters, 
any more than I want them to work sewing-machines. 
She’s the apotheosis of everything that’s set and 
rigid. Oh, you’re dressing her up at this moment and 
it amuses you and her; but you’ll never change her, 
never. She’ll never belong to us.” 

“Am I included with your highness now ?” 

“Don’t be an idiot, you know what I mean. Hang 
it all, we’re both cosmopolitans. We’ve both got our 
full share of temperament and sensation. If that girl 
knew you, she’d call you immoral.” 

“She worships me.” 


CONFLICT 71 

Ferroll stood with his hands in his pockets, looking 
down on his sister with rather a queer expression. 

“If she knew you!” he repeated. “At present, 
she only knows what you choose to tell her. And as 
everything here is utterly different from everything 
she has ever seen, she’s too bouleversee to appreciate 
values. But when she gets used to you, shell begin 
to notice things ; and she won’t understand any 
better, but she’ll think she will.” 

“And will judge me as you do?” said Susan with 
a sore laugh. 

“No. She won’t understand,” said Ferroll again. 
“I’m your brother.” 

Mrs. Ellestree was looking down. And odd, choky 
feeling had come over her. Ferroll did not bring 
comfort. He read her thoughts and spoke quickly. 

“Why, Sue, you’re the best thing I have,” he said. 
“You see, I knozv you.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


“ Youth is the time to go flashing about, from one end of the 
world to the other.” — R. L. S. 

Mrs. Ellestree had gone out to dinner, and Mary 
was alone. She had been reading for some time, but 
her thoughts were too insistent to be held, even by 
Stevenson. So Men and Books lay deserted on the 
sofa, and Mary moved restlessly about the room, 
looking for the hundredth time at the Japanese prints 
whose qualities Mrs. Ellestree was trying to teach her 
to appreciate. Finally she brought up before the 
photographs upon the mantelpiece; Tom, Rosalys 
and Ferroll. She studied her uncle’s face, marking 
the square jowl and solid sullenness, and wondering 
again how Mrs. Ellestree had ever married him, or 
marrying him, was happy! Then she took up the 
huge panel portrait on which sprawled Rosalys’ 
abundant charms, and felt again the instinct of re- 
pulsion she always experienced in Rosalys’ presence. 
Miss Benton was very kind, she told herself, summon- 
ing up remembrance of Rosalys’ many invitations ; 
but yet — she put back the photograph with a little 
shiver. Miss Benton was so big and overpowering. 

Lastly, her gaze fell on the platinotvpe engraving 
from which Ferroll’s intense profile glimmered forth. 
It was a fine picture of strenuous youth, noble, exalted, 
passionate. Ferroll at his very best, his face upturned 
his eyes fixed directly in front of him with the light 
72 


CONFLICT 


73 


of purpose in them. The lips were curled rather 
contemptuously, the head thrown back as if in 
irritation at life’s slow progress. It was the face of a 
dreamer, an enthusiast. The evanescent weakness 
which sometimes showed in the real Ferroll, was not 
there. 

Mary turned suddenly away. She was angry with 
herself for being so irresistibly interested and attracted 
in this supercilious young man who never thought her 
worth talking to. Ferroll was always dropping in, 
but he ignored Mary. He wanted Susan’s sympathy 
alone. 

Once Rosalys had been there, and he included her 
in his magnetic interest; he had laughed and talked 
with her; he, she and Susan forming a delightful 
trio, intimate and irresponsible. Mary felt the cold, 
unreasonable pricking at her heart again. She walked 
to the window, trying to put these people from her 
thoughts. The window was wide open, and the 
moonlight streamed in a broad band on sill and 
carpet. Now and then a footstep paused on the 
deserted flags and could be heard till it died away in 
the distant tumult of the Strand. 

It was a night which set young blood stirring 
restlessly, a night that clamoured for adventure. 
Vitality was coming back to Mary. A nature as 
vigorous as hers could not remain idle long; her 
natural channel of mental activity stopped, reviving 
strength sought for another outlet. In the atmosphere 
of emotionalism into which she had been transplanted, 
romance hovered round her fancy tantalisingly. 

The vanities of women were still new, but to live 
with Susan Ellestree was an unconscious education 
in coquetry. Admiring Mrs. Ellestree as she did, she 
fell to copying her ways ; and no longer thought time 
wasted that was spent in manicuring her fingers or 
brushing her hair till it glossed and shone. The 
fresh and simple frocks chosen by Mrs, Ellestree 


74 


CONFLICT 


appealed to Mary’s taste. Outwardly, at any rate, 
Mary showed vast improvement. 

Inwardly? Well, as Mrs. Ellestree said, the 
“woman” in her was growing every day, and the 
austere conscience that had stayed with its owner 
through the long years of toil was learning, albeit 
uneasily, to walk hand-in-hand with that convenient 
companion, tolerance. 

Yet the romance of life was not for her. Instead, 
there loomed across her vision Berrvfield’s and its 
responsibilities. Her thoughts travelled back there 
not wholly sadly. Though one side of her was 
attracted by the ease of this new life, she knew in 
her heart it could never satisfy her. She was 
possessed of too much energy. Ambition fired her. 
Oh, it was good to feel strong again ; to feel capable 
of undertaking all that she was bound to do. 

She stretched herself, holding out her arms in the 
joy of it. 

Business ! That was the thing to steady this unquiet 
leaping of her soul ! That was the cure for morbid 
loneliness and smarting vanity. When she got back 
to the office how trivial these little pricks and slights 
would seem . . . into what far - away perspective 
Ferroll and all the people at the flat would fade. In 
the meantime . . . 

“Oh! I thought Sue was here!” Ferroll stood just 
within the door. 

Mary came back to consciousness of the immediate 
present, and found it tumultuously real. 

Ferroll was here, alone with her — Ferroll astonish- 
ingly graceful in his evening clothes. 

“Is she out?” 

“Yes. She’s dining at the Carlton.” 

“She never told me.” 

“Some American friends came to-day and insisted 
on her going.” 

“What a bother.” 


CONFLICT 75 

Ferroll looked round the room ill-tetuperedly. He 
stood hesitating. 

“I’ve rotted my whole evening. I meant to have 
a talk with Sue.” He looked at his watch. “It’s too 
late to do anything. It is a nuisance.” 

Mary was moving to the door. He let her pass 
absently, still engrossed in his disappointment; then 
suddenly remembering his social obligations, turned 
to hold open the door. As he did so, his eyes fell 
on Mary. 

She was dressed in a white frock of Mrs. Ellestree’s 
devising ; it gave her a proud, young look. Her chin 
was tip-tilted dangerously; her eyes were shining. 
There was a resentful aloofness in her bearing which 
Ferroll discovered was provocative. 

He held the door-handle. She stood waiting for 
him to let her pass. His eyes searched hers, 
quizzically, with awakening interest. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To leave you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I have no desire to stay.” 

“But why not ? I am going.” 

Mary hesitated. A light leapt into Ferroll’s eyes ; 
the faintest of smiles curved his lips. He threw the 
coat he carried on to the chair. 

“That is, I’m going in a minute ; when you’ve told 
me why you so dislike me.” 

“I?” 

Mary’s astonishment was so genuine that a pleased 
smile crept over Ferroll’s face. It was succeeded by 
a somewhat more chastened look on her explanation. 

“Why, I’ve never felt anything to you at all ; or 
you to me.” 

The eyes were so honest that Ferroll’s conscience 
stabbed him. The least one could give this girl was 
sincerity. 

He answered truthfully. 


76 


CONFLICT 


“I know. Forgive me. I was saying the usual 
thing, to see what you'd say. It was pretty feeble. 
But now I do care what you think. I want to know 
what you think. I want to talk. May I. stay?” 

Ferroll had capitulated. Frankly and simply he 
laid down his arms of indifference and superiority, 
and stood before her, serious and even humble. He 
moved back a step or two from the open door so 
that she might have free passage if she willed. Then 
waited. 

Mary’s heart gave a sudden leap; then seemed to 
stop still in the tide of excitement that rushed over 
her. She could say nothing. The practised Ferroll 
read assent in her confusion and liked her because 
she made no endeavor to conceal it. He moved 
towards the fire-place, talking in a commonplace and 
natural manner. 

“That’s right. It’s awfully kind of you. I’m just 
in the mood for a real talk. Do you ever feel like 
that ? As if you simply must go out and find some one 
who understands things.” 

“I haven’t had much time for talking.” Mary was 
returning somewhat nervously: she hesitated by the 
sofa. 

“Do sit down and be cosy! Let’s make the fire up. 
I love a fire and an open window, don’t you? Sue 
always keeps her rooms so stuffy. I loathe scent.” 

Ferroll was kneeling on the hearth-rug, skilfully 
negotiating the embers into flame. The light leapt 
up, and cast a flickering glow upon his face. Mary 
had subsided on to the sofa. She sat with her hands 
on either side of her, still on the defensive. 

Ferroll threw back his head with an irrepressible 
laugh. 

“It’s good to see you sitting down. I wasn’t quite 
certain that you really would stay. I dunno why. 
Yes, I do. I believe you’re very independent. Aren’t 
you?” 


CONFLICT 


77 


“I've never thought about it.” 

Mary’s answer checked any intrusion into the 
domain of personalities. Ferroll was quick to feel 
the sensitive retreat. He redoubled his attentions to 
the harrassed fire. 

“You come from Birmingham, don’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s a fine city, isn’t it! Strenuous. Stimulating!” 

“It’s all right.” 

Ferroll broke a coal with unabated patience. 

“Yes. So grimly, nakedly matter-of-fact. They 
don’t bother with the artistic or aesthetic side of life. 
No mysteries or illusions. Art’s a concealment and 
selection at the best of times. Here in this flat, one 
almost forgets what real life is.” 

“Do you feel that?” 

Mary was sitting up staring at him, thrilled and 
fascinated. This was a new aspect of the blase world- 
worn young man who had shown his scorn for her so 
openly. 

“Yes,” he looked up at her amusedly. “Didn’t 
you know Sue and I are always disagreeing? We 
have the most heated arguments. I can’t stand this 
eternal bath of sentiment and indolence. I like real 
things; progress, purpose, industry! This is a hot- 
house. I want the world outside — the plains, the sea, 
and stars.” 

“And work !” said Mary. 

He had plunged into the heart of things, and 
was carrying her along with him forgetful of all 
else. 

“Yes, work! This passivity is sluggishness. The 
world is moving; no one has any right to sit in 
scented rooms doing nothing but look pretty. Don’t 
you see ? It’s all wrong !” 

“Of course it’s wrong. I don’t agree with Mrs. 
Ellestree. I think as you do.” 

Youth had met youth; in the Sahara of humanity 


7 g CONFLICT 

two individualities had found each other. The event 
was electric, amazing - . They wanted to say everything 
at once. They understood. 

“Do you?” 

Ferroll was staring at her; how had it come that lie 
had been so stupid, he, who was ordinarily so sensitive 
to personalities? This girl had character, stability. 
He read infinite resolution in her square jaw, infinite 
sincerity in the grey eyes that looked into his with 
no coquetry. 

“I say, how is it that I’ve never seen you ? I mean, 
seen the real you. I only saw a mouse-like ghost 
that was in the way; when all the time you were 
there, some one more real and vital than anybody.” 

“It wasn’t to be surprised at. I’m nobody of 
importance — here.” 

“Nonsense.” 

“I’m, from the provinces.” 

“The provinces are of supreme importance. They’ve 
produced me, and you, ancl Susan!” 

“Not Mrs. Ellestree! Women like her don’t grow 
in the provinces.” 

“Why not.” 

“Oh I don't know. She comes from a world of 
restaurants and dressmakers and beauty and . . . and 
idleness.” 

“A fairly lonely world.” 

“Why do you say that? She’s the happiest person 
I know.” 

Ferroll pursed up his lips enigmatically. 

“Is she?” 

“She has all she wants. A lovely home, friends 
who worship her, beauty round her; and a husband.” 

“Tom? He’s a good sort, but frightfully selfish. 
Most men are. He works hard, sleeps all day, and 
has all his interests centred round the Press Club and 
the tape-machine. He’s fond of Susan in a way, as 
long as she doesn’t interfere with his comfort or his 


CONFLICT 79 

freedom, but he's not much of a companion to grow 
old with.” 

Poor Susan ! She had guarded her married life so 
loyally, and Ferroll threw open the closed door 
ruthlessly, pointing his moral for all the world to hear 
and see. Mary had imagined the unknown uncle 
Tom to be a model of devotion ; it was part of Susan’s 
code to make the best of things. A neglected wife 
was not a dignified spectacle; Mrs. Ellestree upheld 
the chimera of Tom’s silent worship in a way that her 
friends called “beautiful” and that amused Ferroll. 
Plis smile had a pitiful tenderness. Poor Sue. She 
grasped after the show of love, pretending to all that 
it was hers though in her heart she knew. Poor Sue, 
with her great womanly vanity. 

“I thought Uncle Tom adored her.” 

Mary’s eyes were wide. Ferroll shook his head. 

“No. He’s accustomed to her ; but she fidgets him. 
He wants his freedom and Sue wants to take care of 
him. Oh Lord, Lord, won’t women understand all men 
don’t want dry nurses? Will they never understand 
we want to live, and work, and fight by ourselves? 
Ye gods ! When I hear the sermons that Sue preaches 
it makes me want to go out and shout them down. 
They want to put us in prison; to capture us and 
keep us tied to their arms, and so they turn their 
thoughts to waking up our passions so that we may 
be their slaves. Why can’t women see that there are 
bigger aims than that ? Oh it makes me mad ! I want 
to call things out from the house-tops and make people 
listen!” 

Ferroll broke off incoherently. He had risen and 
stood with his profile turned to Mary, forgetful of her 
presence. His eyes looked out of the window into the 
vast distant skies. 

Youth is at the forefront of the march. It must wave 
the banner in the sunlight with a banging of drums 
and a flashing of swords and all the noise and fury 


So 


CONFLICT 


possible. No half-measures, base acceptance! If only 
the world would listen and follow, instead of sitting 
still in its snug apathy. Until youth’s vitality begins 
to ebb and its views become more moderate — its 
certainty less certain ; and lo, and behold, youth sits 
with the grey beards on the wall, and waggles its 
head at the shouting, blustering young fools who have 
come after it. 

Ferroll was still in his heyday of enthusiasm, his 
were the most progressive ideals of his age; he loved 
the companionship of woman; she was so sensitively 
appreciative, so stimulating, so idealistic. He longed 
to raise her. 

She was appreciative now ! Mary sat with her hands 
tight-clasped, thrilled with passionate response ! So 
did she think! Yet for Ferroll to agree. Ferroll who 
had seen so much and knew so much. She no longer 
felt provincial or immature. Ferroll championed her. 

“But why do you think for us? You’re a man.” 

“Why?” 

Ferroll brought his gaze back from the stars to 
the concrete again. His look rested on the girl in 
a half-dazed fashion ; then he turned and began to 
pace up and down the room. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I think about all sorts of 
things. It seems to me man is tied up with woman, 
and he can never rise while she’s siting still, contented. 
Both must spread their wings! Yet fools still live 
who speak of man as a separate animal. A god with 
woman as his creation. It doesn’t work, you see.” 

The boy’s face was old with thought. 

“How is it that you and Mrs. Ellestree think so 
differently ?” 

“I can’t believe she does think differently. But 
she’s lazy and she does love being loved. That’s 
Sue’s tragedy — her vanity. Oh, when I think of her 
— that mind, that energy, that body — maimed and 
cramped for the sake of a fool’s ideal !” 


CONFLICT 


81 


“Why did she marry Uncle Tom?” 

“To get away from home. It was the only way 
she knew. My father didn’t believe in women work- 
ing. He liked to keep them at home to obey, and 
glorify, and wait on him. And my mother, poor little 
thing, was always dinning into Susan’s ears the one 
door that a woman might go through. I was only 
fifteen then, and fully occupied with my own misery. 
No one thought of Sue working or making a career. 
She was beautiful, she was brought up to marry. Life 
was such a hell, she took the first man that came. I 
should think it’s a common story.” 

“For pretty women. I had to work.” 

He had reached the window ; he turned now, half- 
siting, half-leaning on the window-seat. 

“Why did you strike out?” 

“I had to earn my living.” 

Ferroll stuck his heels against the skirting-board, he 
leaned forward, his hands in his pockets, fixing Mary 
with his intent gaze. 

“What do you do?” 

“I was a clerk; then private secretary.” 

“Where?” 

“A tube works, we’ve two thousand workpeople.” 

“You look so young.” 

“I’m twenty-four.” 

“Two years younger than me!” Ferroll’s brow 
was puckered up in a mystified fashion. “I know 
lots of women but I’ve never met one quite like you. 
You’re so . . . so . . . infernally contented with your- 
self. I should think you’re a success in business.” 

“Why?” 

“You’ve got such an air of confidence. Most 
women who work apologise to us all the time and 
explain that they aren’t really independent of us. You 
haven’t once said you’re the old-fashioned woman !” 

“I’m not.” 

“No; but it’s dashed honest of you not to pretend 

6 


82 


CONFLICT 


to be; you haven’t told me you’re Very feminine,’ 
either ; nor talked like a blithering, childish fool : I’ve 
never met a clever woman yet who hasn’t. Hang it 
all. You don’t seem to care a continental what I 
think of you.” 

“I haven’t thought about it. What’s the good? If 
you like me, you like me ; if you don’t you don’t. I 
can’t change myself to please you. Why should I?” 

“I dunno.” Ferroll stared at her in a perplexed 
way. 

“It wouldn’t be honest.” 

“No; but women aren’t honest with men.” 

Mary frowned. 

“Men aren’t honest either; they pretend to each 
other that women are fools, and they know perfectly 
well they’re not.” 

“I say! Where did you pick up this knowledge?” 

“There are fifteen men clerks in our office. I’ve a 
better head than any one of them ; and every one of 
them obeys me. Yet when they go home in the train 
they talk as if they were the rulers of the earth and I 
an accident. They may be gods outside, but they 
shrink to very human limits in the office.” 

“I say! You are hard on us.” 

“No harder than you are on us.” 

“Come, I believe in women. I think there have 
been some very clever ones. Of course they are 
exceptions.” 

“And I think there have been some very clever 
men . . . but I haven’t noticed they’re the rule !” 

Mary’s eyes met Ferroll’s shining with excitement. 
There was something altogether new and stimulating 
to be discussing such things with this wonderful 
brother of Mrs. Ellestree’s. As for Ferroll, his mouth 
twitched into an unwilling smile, then it spread to his 
eyes and he laughed outright. 

“Scored ! Of course I think all women ought to be 
on an equality with us, but we feel we’re sort of help- 


CONFLICT 


83 

ing you up, you know. I — I really have never met 
any one quite like you. I don’t know whether I like 
you or not.” 

“Indeed !” 

Mary’s eyes were dancing, the blood was racing 
feverishly. Why, this was sheer adventure ! 

“Oh don’t!” said Ferroll. He got down from his 
perch and rammed his hands into his pockets 
desperately. He looked absurdly young as he stood 
there. “Don’t be feminine. After all, I’m a man, and 
when you put your chin like that, and sniff at my 
impertinence, it makes me feel hunterish. Know 
what I mean; the brute instinct stirs, and I want to 
tease you, and, oh, hang it, don’t let’s flirt. We’ve 
something much better to give to one another.” 

“You never stay anywhere?” said Mary somewhat 
inconsequently. A sudden depression had come over 
her. Mrs. Ellestree’s words were sounding in her ear. 
No woman will keep him . 

“No!” Ferroll’s eyes were far away. “Directly 
I plant a stake in friendship, country, occupation, I 
feel it pulling!” He began to pace the room. 
“That’s the trouble! Directly you offer your hand to 
any one they want to padlock it in gyves of personal 
possession. I must develop by myself. You can’t 
grow up tied to awv one or anything. Yet directly 
you feel sympathy with any human person, especially 
if it’s a woman, she resents your freedom. She wants 
to guide you or to follow you, only she must be 
attached in some way. She must know all about you, 
meet your friends, discuss your conduct, approve or 
disapprove. Why can’t people leave me to work out 
my own destiny without talking about it? I don’t 
want anybody’s praise or censure. I only want to be 
left alone. It’s / who am doing, and only I know 
why; and even I don’t sometimes. Then how can 
they? If people wouldn’t hinder with their silly chatter- 
ing tongues !” 


8 4 


CONFLICT 


“I don’t want to talk about you. I’m not even 
curious,” said Mary. She lay back white and tired. 
Ferroll turned impatiently. 

“Of course! I know. Don’t be so personal. I 
shouldn’t talk like that if you wanted to cling on. 
Must there always be these eternal explanations? Take 
me for granted as I take you.” 

“I do,” said Mary. Ferroll’s roughness hurt her. 
He heard the quiver in her voice. 

“You’re tired?” He brought up sharply in front of 
her. 

Mary nodded. 

“A little! I’ve been ill. I’m not quite right yet. 
Talking tires me.” 

“What an egotistic brute I am. Oh, I say, I’m 
sorry. Look here, it’s all right. I know you under- 
stand. D’you see? That’s why I like you so much. 
You’re everything I want woman to be. Sue would 
think that was a proposal. But you know what I 
mean. I like you because you made no claim on me, 
and yet you understand !” 

“I’m going.” Mary had risen; she drew herself up 
proudly. She resented Ferroll’s words. 

“Really? Then I shall wait for Sue. You’re not 
angry. Oh, you mustn’t be. I want to see lots of 
you. We’re going to be friends. I’m worth while 
having as a friend. Ask Sue. She’s one of my real 
chums. But I want to be honest with you from the 
first moment, I want to warn you against myself. 
Hasn’t Sue told you what a rolling stone I am? I 
can’t help it. Everything calls to me and I have to 
follow. But I respect you, somehow. You’re so 
plucky. I believe you’re the first woman I’ve ever met 
whom I’ve not tried to interest. 

Mary drew herself up and looked him in his eyes. 

Ferroll’s self-assurance made her furious. He was 
cautioning her against taking undue notice of his 
fascinating self! 


CONFLICT 


85 


“You do interest me,” she said with lofty frankness, 
“but, as a matter of fact, there was no need to warn 
me. You don’t know, of course, what important 
things I have to think about. Good-night.” 

“What !” said Ferroll, and turned after her with 
the devil in his eyes ; then, as she departed, drew back 
with a laugh, albeit it was at his own expense. 

“Important things!” said he with a whimsical 
pucker. “Oh, hang it all. She’s too good to play 
with.” 

He was sincere when he said he did not want 
to flirt with Mary. He recognised the courage of her 
soul and respected it. He would have liked to respect 
all women, but sometimes they called to him from the 
roadside, and sometimes — alas, for Ferroll’s ideals ! — 
it was his mood to answer. 

There was a savage side to his nature which loved 
the feel of power ; loved to see red blood blushing tell- 
tale underneath his glance ; to feel that he held happi- 
ness in his touch, and might grant or withhold. 

But Mary’s eyes had looked back fearlessly; she 
disdained to use the common tricks of woman’s 
armoury; strong, clean and pure, her spirit fired with 
sympathy for all that was best in him. 

When Mrs. Ellestree returned, she found her brother 
sitting soberly in the big chair, so lost in thought he 
did not even hear her entrance. 

“Ferroll !” 

The soft white arms descended round him ; a flushed 
cheek pressed itself to his. 

“My dearest boy, what a delicious surprise!” 

Ferroll responded to the embrace gracefully He 
was very fond of Sue, and emotions did not embarrass 
him as they did most people. 

“How long have you been here?” 

“All the evening.” 

“Then you’ve seen Mary?” 

“Yes” 


86 


CONFLICT 


“Where is she?” 

“Gone to bed. She was tired.” 

“With you here?” 

“Yes. Fm afraid that I exhausted her!” Ferroll’s 
eyes caught hers shamefacedly. Then he burst into a 
laugh, and perched himself upon the arm of his 
sister’s chair. The serious mood was gone. His eyes 
shone Puck-like in the moonlight, challenging his 
sister’s questioning glance. 

“I haven’t flirted, honour! But I talked, I own it! 
How is it I’ve never seen her before. I must have 
been mad.” 

Mrs. Ellestree’s eyes darkened. She looked up 
sharply. 

“You must be careful. You’re the first man she’s 
ever met.” 

“She’s none the worse for that.” 

“But she can’t take things lightly . . . even you.” 

“What rot.” Ferroll drove one hand into his 
pocket and got up shortly. “This eternal emotion- 
alism makes me sick. Why, in heaven’s name, an 
intelligent man and woman can’t spend an hour or 
two together discussing things in which both are 
interested without being suspected of wanting to 
squeeze each other’s hands!” 

“If it were only that, I shouldn’t mind !” 

“’Pon my soul, Sue!” 

“Now don’t be silly. I shouldn’t care if you only 
flirted ; but you’re so absorbing and exacting in your 
egotism. You stamp your personality on women. You 
drain them dry of sympathy — and then — go on.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Oh, Ferroll ! Rosalys.” 

“Rosalys is a great animal. You know she is. I 
own I thought she had a soul ... at one time.” 

Mrs. Ellestree put down her gloves with decision. 

“You used to say that no one understood you so 
completely. No, Ferroll. I don’t often deny you 


CONFLICT 


87 

anything, but I can’t let you spoil Mary’s happiness. 
I don’t want to see her disillusioned. I want her 
to meet some good, clean-minded man whom she 
can trust and who will be worthy of her trust. She 
mustn’t be experimented on.” 

“Don’t talk as stupidly as if I were a professional 
Don Juan.” 

“I shouldn’t have any fear for Mary if you were. 
But you attack from the spiritual side of emotions. 
You make women believe in you. My dear, I love 
you, but I’m your sister. I know your artistic 
temperament through and through. I know the 
strength of your intentions ; the other women only 
hear you talk. They haven’t watched you talk — and 
ride away — as I have !” 

“I’ll promise not to flirt. I’ve told her so.” 

“You’ve told . . . her . . . so . . . Oh, Ferroll, 
you are naughty !” 

Mrs. Ellestree looked at him in a despair that had 
yet a note of laughter in it. Ferroll had the grace to 
look confused. 

“Really! She’s the sort of girl one can be friends 
with.” 

“But, you’re not the sort of man an inexperienced 
girl can be friends with.” Mrs. Ellestree looked at 
him with a frown into which affection could not help 
but creep. “No, Ferroll dear, I shall not encourage 
your sudden sympathy with Mary. If you’ve any 
love for me at all, you’ll keep off personal talks with 
her. I wonder if it would be any use asking you to 
promise.” 

“Not such a ridiculous thing as that,” said Ferroll 
loftily. “Mary and I understand each other.” 

Mrs. Ellestree bent towards her brother almost in 
appeal. 

“Ferroll,” said she, I’m not silly, but I love this 
girl. I feel a mother’s responsibilities toward her. 
You know I have always helped you in your friend- 


88 


CONFLICT 


ships before! But I can’t sacrifice Mary. She’s 
alone and unprotected, and I stand between her and 
the world. Come, I don’t often ask you to do things 
for my sake; but leave Mary alone.” 

“All right! ... I won’t experiment. There! I 
promise!” Ferroll rumpled his sister’s hair. She laid 
her head back against his shoulder. 

“Oh, Ferroll, I’m glad I have you back again.” 


CHAPTER IX 


“ Must you gather ? 

Smell, kiss, wear it— at last, throw away!” 

R. Browning. 

The river lay still and hot in the July sunshine. 
Now and then a passing launch sent a lazy wave 
gurgling among the willow roots, or a punt pushed 
slowly past, but for the most part silence reigned — 
lazy, luxurious silence, when the lawn, and willows, 
and low house with its flower-baskets and vine-clad 
verandah seemed fast asleep. 

The little group of basket-chairs upon the lawn 
was tenantless; a scarlet sunshade sprawled upon the 
grass, a cushion had slid down from the nest upon 
the largest chair. Some illustrated papers lay upon 
the wicker table, but their readers had vanished. 

Cuvier stepped out on to the verandah, a crimson 
rambler rose in a tangled wall before him, forming a 
flowery screen through whose interstices the lawn 
showed like a stage-picture. He drew a deep breath 
of contentment. 

He had come down for a week-end to Rosalys 
Benton’s bungalow; Rosalys and her party were 
evidently on the river, for the little launch that popped 
its nose habitually out of the trim boat-house had 
gone. He left the verandah, and walking across the 
lawn stood for a moment or two on the edge of the 
water. On the other side of the river stretched 
meadows, blurred by a thin haze from the intense heat. 
Somewhere a cricket chirped. 

89 


90 


CONFLICT 


The most successful firms have their moments of 
depression. The last few months Cuvier had been 
hit hard. A certain Government contract which 
Cuvier had counted on had fallen to Berryfield’s, the 
latter firm offering terms that could only be termed 
suicidal. Since the death of its head, far from 
becoming more quiescent, Berryfield’s seemed to have 
developed a positively venomous activity with the 
object of the total extinction of Cuvier’s, at the cost 
of bringing Berryfield’s to grief with it, for the orders 
Berryfield’s were capturing could not only bring them 
no possible profit, but must be executed at enormous 
loss. 

Cuvier’s face had not a pretty look as his thoughts 
flew back to the inexplicable policy of the rival 
firm. Berryfield’s must suffer with him; but other 
firms were making headway through this vicious 
competition. 

There could be only one reason for such malevo- 
lence: Berryfield’s had got wind of the patent and 
were deliberately trying to make it impossible for 
him to close when the option expired. His hard 
mouth curled scornfully. Had he not put his finger 
on Berryfield’s tactics they might have succeeded, but, 
as it was, he had foreseen their purpose and had taken 
steps to guard himself. 

If the process passed all the tests, there would be 
no danger of his not being able to pay the ten 
thousand that would make the patent his. That 
acquired, he would be indifferent to anything that 
Berryfield’s could do. If the tests did not fulfil the 
golden promise, however, and there was a very reason- 
able possibility that the final progress might prove 
impractical, well . . . Cuvier shrugged his shoulders. 
If the worst came to the worst, he would only go 
under temporarily. He had been bankrupt before. 
But in spite of his philosophy the strain was telling 
on his nerves : there was another month to be endured 


CONFLICT 


9i 


before the tests would be completed. Each day a 
new surprise was sprung on him, obviously emanating 
from his enemy 1 his cool head and balanced judg- 
ment began to fail him ; and on the realisation of this 
he had decided to remove himself entirely from the 
worries for a day or two. Nothing could be done in 
London this week-end, and he had carelessly availed 
himself of Rosalys’ easy invitation. 

He did not object to Rosalys, he had not any 
particular liking for her, but she could be trusted to 
have a good chef , a luxurious and artistic home, and 
an easy atmosphere of emotionalism. Added to these 
attractions, her cottage was but a short run from town, 
and, while he was away from his distraction, he could 
be summoned at a moments notice. Therefore, he 
had wired that he was coming, and resented in no 
whit her absence on his arrival. Peace ! That was all 
he wanted. 

“Is that Mr. Cuvier?” 

A voice clove the stillness. 

Cuvier turned in some surprise, a surprise which 
was increased when he saw that he was being 
addressed. 

A woman had stepped out from the verandah. She 
looked simple and dignified, traits which did not 
over-inconvenience the run of Mr. Cuvier’s feminine 
acquaintances. Yet for all her matronly demeanour, 
the woman was smiling at him in a pleasant welcoming 
fashion. 

‘‘You’re Mr. Cuvier, aren’t you? Your wire came 
after Miss Benton had gone on the river. She was 
expecting a wire from the theatre, and had told me to 
open it and answer. They’ve gone up in the launch 
to Pangbourne and won’t be back till dinner-time. 
I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s all right. I can look after myself quite 
well.” 

“I was going to offer to entertain you !” 


92 


CONFLICT 


Susan Ellestree spoke with humour. Cuvier res- 
ponded to her friendliness. 

“Then I shall have nothing to complain of !” 

“That’s very nice of you !” Mrs. Ellestree blushed 
becomingly. Happiness shone in her face. She 
showed her pleasure at the compliment without 
dissimulation. 

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” 

“Mrs. Ellestree, isn’t it? Miss Benton has spoken 
of you.” 

“Rosalys is so ridiculous about me! I tell her it’s 
most unfair to me. People must be so dreadfully 
disappointed !” 

“The reply is too obvious.” 

“Do you really think so?” 

Cuvier marvelled at her pleasure. One handed her 
a withered branch, and her pleasure at the gift made 
it bud with blossom, becoming precious to both 
recipient and giver. She appeared to regard this 
harmless repartee as sincere tribute, receiving it as 
her right, and never doubting it was genuine ore, and 
not base metal from the mint of idleness. Was she 
colossally vain, or exquisitely simple-minded? 

Cuvier expected women to be his least exacting 
relaxation, and desired nothing from them but the 
crudest and most elemental satisfaction. He had 
heard a great deal of Mrs. Ellestree: Rosalys liked 
to advertise her as the best type of “a really good 
woman.” As a matter of fact, Miss Benton’s raptures 
had not aroused his interest. Virtue had no attractions 
for him. 

But now that he stood face to face with Susan 
Ellestree he began to perceive that woman might 
have charm without being corrupt. Susan’s fresh 
smile involuntarily compelled response. She belonged 
to the garden and the summer and the sweetly-fragrant 
stillness. 

“May I stay out here?” 


CONFLICT 


93 


“Yes. Wouldn’t you like a drink?” 

“That’s very thoughtful.” 

“I’ll ring.” 

Mrs. Ellestree disappeared into the house. Cuvier 
retraced his steps to the group of chairs and stretched 
himself upon the largest one. He discovered that he 
was mildly interested in the growth of their acquaint- 
ance. He was not certain that he wanted to make 
love to her, but he felt her presence soothingly. 

Presently a servant came out bearing a tray on 
which gleamed ice and cooling liquids. Still Mrs. 
Ellestree did not appear: the shadows had visibly 
lengthened since his coming: he began to feel im- 
patient. 

Meanwhile Susan Ellestree was lingering over the 
last touches of her toilette; deliberately protracting 
it, if only because she was longing so feverishly to 
join the stalwart figure stretched in the acacia’s 
shadow — longing with an intensity which almost 
frightened her. Yet when nothing more could be 
done to beautify herself, she sat down at the writing- 
table and wrote letters while the little clock ticked 
round with maddening slowness: not, indeed, till a 
good hour had elapsed since Cuvier’s advent did she 
sally downstairs. Her wisdom in the minor things of 
life made her think she was a discreet woman. 

When she at last returned, Cuvier rose to greet 
her with unfeigned pleasure. 

She came across the grass lightly, with joyous steps, 
that in spite of all her efforts would not fall soberly, 
her white gown floated out upon the close-cropped 
sward; her throat lifted a little, appealingly. She 
took the chair he offered and settled herself into it, 
accepting cushions with graceful composure. 

Cuvier abandoned himself again to a half-lying 
posture, his eyes lowered upon the grass. The still- 
ness seemed to fold gentle wings over the landscape. 
From a bed of heliotrope close by, warm fragrance 


94 


CONFLICT 


weighted down the air. Mrs. Ellestree had taken out 
her knitting. The click of the needles sounded peace- 
fully. 

“Why were you so long? I thought you were never 
coming.” 

“Was I long? I had some letters to write, and you 
looked very comfortable. Weren’t you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” 

Cuvier leant his head back, closing his eyes. Mrs. 
Ellestree saw that his face had a strained look. She 
spoke with motherly compassion. 

“I’m so glad you’ve been able to get off for a few 
days. You look as if you needed rest.” 

“Unfortunately one can never rest completely. The 
whirr of the wheel is always sounding.” 

“Shut your ears.” 

“To the voice of the syren?” 

Cuvier’s eyes opened. Mrs. Ellestree laughed a 
little. 

“I call work the syren, a horrible hooting steam- 
whistle of a syren. She really mustn’t come into our 
garden !” 

Cuvier smiled again, rather cursorily. 

“I’m afraid her voice dins in our ears, like the sea 
in a shell. You can’t banish her.” He took a deep 
breath. The frown had settled on his forehead. 

“Well, you mustn’t think of her when you’re with 
me. I forbid it.” 

“Give me an alternative, then.” 

The women he knew would have availed themselves 
of the obvious opportunity. Susan Ellestree replied 
quite simply. 

“Can’t you merge yourself in this atmosphere? It 
always rests me to get away from a great city.” 

“London ?” 

“Any city.” 

“There is only one in England.” 

“What about the provinces?” 


CONFLICT 


95 


“Dogholes !” 

''And London the man-trap?” Mrs. Ellestree’s 
voice came with sweet gravity. “I come from the 
provinces myself. I was born in Manchester and I 
appreciate them. You Londoners don’t take the 
provinces nearly seriously enough. I own their 
limitations are evident, but they needn’t be lifted so 
completely off the sphere of your consideration. 
They’re so much more settled than London. We’re 
all unstable here. London’s too full of temptation.” 

“Not for you, Mrs. Ellestree?” 

Cuvier struck in with apparent carelessness. Some- 
thing fired in Susan’s eyes. 

“Specially for me. I’ve a very strong lower nature 
that’s always warring with the higher part. There is 
a higher part, you know.” Her look met his with a 
compound of hardihood and resolution. This great 
financier with the tired eyes and inscrutable lips woke 
up the depths and she knew it. She resented his look 
and triumphed in it. Determined not to be entangled 
in the sleeping fires, yet thrilled with the intoxication 
of the danger. There was danger, his look promised 
it. 

That no overmastering temptation had seized on 
Susan in the past she counted as a virtue. Yet in 
truth the average man is not such a ravening hunter 
as fame paints him. He is too lazy, or too jaded to 
advance unless he is encouraged. Susan laid down 
her limitations and her men friends kept within them 
patiently enough, because they had no great wish to 
transgress. Mrs. Ellestree was an autocratic woman, 
and her philosophic intelligence counted against her 
personal attractions. If one side of her nature pulled 
her down, the other side repelled invaders by its 
dignity. Only a particularly strong man, confident 
in his omnipotence, would feel temptation to break 
through. Cuvier’s eyes showed his complete disregard 
of Mrs, Ellestree’s defences. 


9 6 


CONFLICT 


Was it bravery that made her fling her shield 
deliberately before him? 

We have said that Susan Ellestree had never been 
pursued by a conqueror. She knew her will was 
stronger than that of all her “make-believe” admirers. 
Did the lower nature which she avowed so frankly 
long now to be mastered? 

Cuvier was speaking in his deliberate fashion. 

“Surely our intellects were given us for the purpose 
of discriminating and developing emotions, not for 
stunting them. How then can one’s intellect war with 
one’s instincts?” 

“One has a moral sense.” 

“Has one?” Cuvier lifted his eyebrows languidly. 
“I’m afraid I haven’t.” 

The sleepy eyes looked at her smiling. 

“I thought a moral sense was as antiquated as a 
conscience. I prefer a sound philosophy of life?” 

“What is your philosophy?” 

“Epicurean.” 

“Pleasure?” 

“Conflict.” 

“Does your philosophy help you in defeat?” 

“I have never had occasion to experiment.” 

“Do you withdraw then when you find the conflict 
difficult?” 

Mrs. Ellestree’s glance was stimulating. 

Cuvier suppressed a smile at the first fall of the 
flag. She had shown so plainly that she wanted him 
to follow. • 

“I never withdraw, Mrs. Ellestree, when the quarry 
is started.” 

Mrs. Ellestree bent down over her work somewhat 
suddenly. 

Cuvier watched her curiously. He had liked the 
pleasant frankness of Susan’s welcome and the 
equally pleasant intimacy into which he had stepped 


CONFLICT 


97 


at once without undue fatigue, but he still was at a 
loss as to Mrs. Ellestree’s moral limitations. One 
moment he believed in them ; another, a look, a smile, 
would set doubt stirring. And yet, even when doubt 
stirred he was conscious of a certain respect for her 
which he very rarely felt for women. He paid her 
the compliment now of being interested. 

“What is your safeguard?” he asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s rather difficult to explain. What stops the 
dry-rot in woman which lack of occupation always 
brings to man?” 

“Women have different functions from those of 
men.” 

“I don’t quite follow you.” 

“Well, marriage plays a far more important place 
in a woman’s life than in a man’s.” 

“Because of the children?” 

“Yes.” 

“But thousands of women don’t have children.” 

“Then they can devote more time to their 
husbands. A husband is a lifetime’s occupation, you 
know.” 

Cuvier looked at her somewhat curiously. 

“D’you think so? I should say that most men 
would very much resent their wife hanging round all 
day. She’d be in the way.” 

“I leave my husband severely alone !” 

“You’re sensible, but while it’s all right for 
him, what keeps you morally, mentally, humanely 
sound ?” 

“Do I strike you as not being that?” 

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m wondering 
about. I can’t quite make you out. I suppose you 
give people a certain amount of passive pleasure by 
your society, but I can’t see how any one with brain 
and energy — and you seem to have both — can be 
7 


98 


CONFLICT 


satisfied with such a . . . flower-like existence. 
Heaven knows, I love women to have charm, but I 
always wonder if they feel it’s worth a life — a whole, 
long human life — devoted to what, after all, is only 
superficiality.” 

Cuvier’s eyes studied her with a rough impersonality 
which his hearer found supremely irritating. Her 
smile was forced. There are certain kinds of 
criticism, which do not place one in a becoming 
light. Cuvier’s tone implied a doubt as to the 
successfulness of Mrs. Ellestree’s carefully-thought-out 
personality. 

“Don’t you think there’s room in the world for 
some women whose only ambition is to make their 
homes real homes, and their husbands and friends as 
happy as possible?” 

“And themselves.” Cuvier put in the addenda as 
the logical conclusion. 

“It’s our duty to be as happy as possible, isn’t 
it?” 

“And it makes you happy? That’s what I want to 
get at.” 

“Don’t you think I look a happy woman?” 

“I never pretend to read a woman’s face,” said 
Cuvier. “To me, women’s eyes are always asking. 
But you haven’t answered me. You are held up as 
an example of the typical ‘good woman.’ Does good- 
ness satisfy you?” 

“My dear Mr. Cuvier, is anybody ever satisfied?” 

“Not with results, perhaps, but with one’s purpose, 
most decidedly. My business gives an outlet for my 
vigour which nothing else could give, but then it en- 
grosses me. There’s always something to be fought 
with, whether one succeeds or fails; always a definite 
progress being made one way or the other, back or 
forward. It’s motion. It’s life. But what has a 
‘good woman’s’ day to give her ? Making a home for 


CONFLICT. 


99 


a husband who comes to it in the evenings and not 
always then. There’s not much keen exhilaration 
there. Making her friends happy by being pleasant 
and sympathetic. But her friends want very little 
from her when all’s said and done, unless they are 
leeches, when I’m quite sure a woman of your sense 
would suppress them. What do you really live for? 
Forgive me, if I seem inquisitive. I don’t know many 
good women. The opportunity for investigation as 
to a respectable married woman’s point of view is too 
rare to be lost.” 

“I am afraid your experience will not help you to 
understand us,” Mrs. Ellestree said quietly. There 
was disapproval in her demeanour. Cuvier stretched 
himself more comfortably in his chair. 

“I have no time to investigate the microscopic sub- 
tleties that differentiate your charming sex,” he said 
coolly. '‘Women supply a certain need: I avail myself 
of them at intervals as I avail myself of other luxuries. 
They are one more of the creature comforts a bene- 
ficent Almighty has provided ! Being a hardworked 
man I can’t afford the time to break down the restric- 
tions with which so-called good women hedge them- 
selves. Many men prefer a run for their money, but 
women as a sport seems child’s play to me. There are 
much keener sensations to be had.” 

The words struck brutally, all the more because of 
his knowledge that he attracted the woman beside 
him. 

She heard the words with a strange sinking of 
the heart, but she answered with her customary 
wisdom. 

“Women have much more to give than a man like 
you can ever know. That is your loss, however. To 
good women, as you call us, your opinion or judgment 
is not worth very much. We know our barriers are 
unassailable; but as you will never test them, there’s 


100 


CONFLICT. 


no reason why you should not think them easy of 
conquest if it gives you pleasure to think that.” 

Her tone was fully as cool and as detached as his. 
A gleam shot into Cuvier’s eyes. He looked at her 
again. She was knitting calmly, her face bent com- 
posedly over the stitches. She seemed neither piqued 
nor angry: safe in an impenetrable citadel of self- 
control. 

“Are you challenging me, Mrs. Ellestree?” 

“I was not thinking of you,” said Mrs. Ellestree. 
“I was speaking of your type : I believe it is a fairly 
common one.” 

“Not in the least a common one,” said Cuvier. His 
cruel mouth was smiling: his half-shut eyes rested 
on the woman in an amused fashion. “Work is my 
chief and only happiness. In this world of an eight 
hours’ day you must confess that gives me distinc- 
tion.” 

He was amusing himself with her. Mrs. Ellestree 
again felt a blank and desolate sensation. She smiled 
rather uncertainly. 

“And also it is surely a distinction to be invulnerable 
to woman’s power !” 

Cuvier appreciated courage. Mrs. Ellestree’s eyes 
roused him. He responded to the challenge daringly. 

“I’m very vulnerable to the excitement of the 
chase.” 

“I thought you had no time to break down the re- 
strictions of ‘good women.’ ” 

Cuvier looked back, undisturbed. “No, I haven’t. 
If a woman’s eyes don’t invite me I don’t follow. But 
when they do invite me ... to conquer . . .” 

Mrs. Ellestree’s cheeks flamed suddenly. The best of 
her nature rose in her arms against the open insolence 
. . . “invited” him . . . “invited” him . . . 

Indignation thrilled her. She lifted her head, look- 
ing at him. 


CONFLICT. 


IOI 


“You are insulting !” 

“I? To whom?” Cuvier responded with cruel in- 
nocence. 

Mrs. Ellestree still lifted her head proudly. 

“Me. All women, when you talk like that.” 

Her scorn rang nobly. She defended not herself, 
but her whole sex. Something in her bearing stilled 
the sneer upon his lips. There was a silence. 

Then he spoke. “I beg your pardon. Would you 
like me to go?” 

The question came so quietly that she did not at 
first realise its significance. Then it dawned upon 
her with the perception of her triumph. She had com- 
pelled his respect! 

Alas! the joy of the victory was greater than other 
considerations. The woman in her leapt up, exultant ! 
She had not only won his interest ; she had impressed 
him. He had begged her pardon. 

Go? Spoil the victory? No! Let her keep the 
captive. 

Alas for her short reign. She showed her elation 
. . . showed, too, her desire to keep him. . . . 

“Why should you go, now that you understand?” 

He leant back without answering. The secret smile 
curved his lips. He read everything that she was 
thinking. She wrapped the pose of “goodness” round 
her as an insignia of authority. It gave her added 
power : respect : admiration. But beneath the impos- 
ing trappings there was the same greed of homage, 
the same eternal seeking to attract, the same joy in the 
arousing of desire. His cold eyes laughed. Mrs. 
Ellestree felt the subtle change in atmosphere. She 
was not a stupid woman. She carried the attack into 
his country. 

“This is Rosalys’ house, not mine; and you are 
Rosalys’ friend. So it would not be right for me to 
ask you to leave here, simply because you do not 


102 CONFLICT 

believe any woman has the moral sense. That is what 
you think, isn’t it?” 

Cuvier paused a moment. Her composure pleased 
him. He spoke frankly. 

“Honestly, then, yes. No woman has it, because 
every woman’s morality is clouded by her sense of 
sex.” 

“Those are terrible words . . .” Susan Elles- 

tree’s face blanched slightly. 

“True ones. Woman cannot be impersonal. It is 
a physical impossibility ! Her purpose is personal : to 
fulfil the need of man.” 

“But is his need only so one-sided? He needs her 
sympathy, her spiritual influence, her counsel. He 
needs her moral help !” 

Cuvier shook his head with the touch of amused 
knowledge showing in the action. 

“If he is a man . . . no. You are a sensible 

woman, and a plucky one. You wouldn’t give two 
straws for a man who didn’t make his own laws, code 
of morals, life-work, ambitions, interests, alone, with- 
out a woman’s help.” 

Mrs. Ellestree’s work had fallen from her hands 
She sat looking at Cuvier in unconscious fascination. 
He was so big, so strong, and so regardless of her. 
She struggled still, though, in a passionate desire to 
win that touch of respect he had shown at first. 

“But if you met a woman who viewed things im- 
personally . . . whose moral sense was strong, 

true and clear . . .?” 

“I should respect her,” the faintest of twinkles 
lurked in Cuvier’s eyes, though he spoke with gravity, 
“but I shouldn’t make love to her.” 

“Don’t you think she would be worthy of your 
love?” 

“She wouldn’t awake it. You see, such a woman 
couldn’t be relegated to the casual things of life — and 


CONFLICT 


103 


there’s no room for a woman in the things that count 
to me. I don’t want anybody there.” 

“In business?” 

The words came jealously. 

“Yes. Women can’t grasp big issues. They daren’t 
act on instinct without being hysterical. Defeat 
paralyses them. Women are out of place on battle- 
fields.” 

Her own ideas ; yet Mrs. Ellestree was conscious of 
a curious sinking feeling. 

“Yes.” 

“Why do you say 'yes’ so sadly? You aren’t one 
of the emancipated ?” 

“Oh, no, no.” Mrs. Ellestree made haste to deny 
the accusation. “I’m the old-fashioned woman. I 
agree with you in everything, except that I think 
women help men more, perhaps, than men know. We 
help by being just ourselves ... we rest them. 
And we have the moral sense; at least, some of us 
have. I have it most decidedly.” 

Cuvier flicked his cigarette. 

“That is what puzzles me,” said he, with unexpected 
naivete. 

“Why are you such friends with Miss Benton?” 

“I love Rosalys.” 

“Do you consider she has . . . the moral sense ?” 

“I call Rosalys a good woman.” 

“Then you and Rosalys are alike?” 

“Oh, no. I ... I have much more self-restraint 
than she.” . . . 

Cuvier smiled at the quickness of the denial. 

“But you both have the moral sense?” 

Cuvier’s voice came with lazy impertinence. Mrs. 
Ellestree heard the mockery. She answered with a 
certain dignity. 

“Rosalys would be very loyal to the man she 
loved.” 


104 


CONFLICT 


“No matter how many,” Cuvier put in a pleasant 
parenthesis. 

“She is very emotional ! But she can’t help that. 
One must make allowances for temperaments.” 

“Yours is colder?” Cuvier’s eyes questioned 
pointedly. 

Mrs. Ellestree bent her head over her work in some- 
what of a constrained manner. 

“I don’t say that.” 

The smile leaped up again. Cuvier enjoyed the 
fencing-bout. 

“You wouldn’t love on compulsion?” 

A pause. Cuvier deliberately flung his cigarette into 
the river. 

Mrs. Ellestree had bent her head so low down that 
he could not see her face. The faint smile was 
tinged with triumph, his half-shut eyes surveyed her 
carelessly. 

“Afraid ... to answer?” 

“How ridiculous you are. I wonder where Rosalys 
can have taken them.” Mrs. Ellestree put down her 
work with a trembling smile that could not be coerced 
into unconsciousness. 

“I haven’t the faintest curiosity. I am consumed 
with a much more overpowering one. If you were 
captured, Mrs. Ellestree” — the words fell distinctly 
one by one, Cuvier’s glance gave no mercy — “you’d 
respect ‘natural man’ and would be his slave like 
‘natural woman.’ Come. That’s your philosophy. 
Own you’d like it put in practice.” 

Insolently irresistible, Cuvier leant back in his chair. 
The words might mean everything, nothing. His 
serene demeanour gave no indication. 

“I shall do nothing of the sort. You forget I am 
a married woman, Mr. Cuvier.” 

There was coquetry, challenge, stirred excitement 
in the answer, Cuvier lifted his head up, his bright 


CONFLICT 105 

eyes lingering on Mrs. Ellestree like an amused 
caress. 

“What are you smiling at?” Mrs. Ellestree bent 
her head industriously while she asked the question. 

“Nothing,” murmured Cuvier. 

His eyes rested on her with the freedom of a caress. 
Her heart beat with unaccustomed quickness, an ex- 
traordinary sensation of joy and triumph circled her. 
For the rest of her life, she looked back on that after- 
noon when she felt the first touch of the ideal passion 
for which her heart had thirsted all the weary years ; 
when romance stretched out a strong hand and she 
knew she might close her eyes to everything, knowing 
it was coming. 

Poor Susan ; so pitifully laying down her all — for 
what? 

For a moment’s pleasure to the man who lay back, 
wordless, content to watch the blood flushing to her 
brow under his scrutiny. Verily when the worker 
almost breaks beneath the struggle it is good to step 
into a garden off the highway, and rest among the 
flowers, feeling them pulse obediently, thrillingly, be- 
neath the careless touch. 

The sound of a puffing launch wheezed suddenly 
behind the boat-house. Soon it emerged from behind 
the willows, with Rosalys, bountifully radiant in pink 
muslin, waving her parasol excitedly at sight of her 
guests upon the lawn. 

Men filled the basket-chairs within the launch. A 
subaltern in flannels, fat and sleepy ; a cynical novelist 
lying with his feet up ; a dark-eyed young actor, hand- 
some as a mediaeval knight, Rosalys’ latest acquisition. 
Furthest from every one, tucked away in the bows, a 
slight and silent figure sat. She looked so out of place 
in her simplicity that Cuvier’s eyes rested on her in 
amused surprise. 

The launch was approaching alongside. The young 


CONFLICT 


®o6 

actor had risen, Rosalys had linked her arm in his to 
steady herself ; the launch lurched and he put his arm 
about her and held her tightly. 

Cuvier looked towards the bows ; a stern, small face 
was gazing rigidly before her, disapproval in every 
line of it. 

‘There I should imagine is a young woman with 
the moral sense,” said Cuvier; his eyes were glinting 
cynically. Mrs. Ellestree smiled, but with a touch of 
reproof. 

“Yes,” said she. “It's not a comfortable possession. 
She’s in a strange world, poor child ; and can’t fit into 
it. She will learn tolerance. All young girls are unco 
guid. Mary is so sincere and strong. She won’t have 
any compromise with her ideals. It’s stupid, but I 
admire her for it.” 

Cuvier and she moved forward to the party. 
Rosalys welcomed him with her usual exuberance ; 
she was flushed and excited. Mary was following 
behind. 

“You don’t look as if you’d had a very happy day.” 
Mrs. Ellestree put her arm in Mary’s protectingly. 

“No.” 

“Why not, dear? I was envying you this lovely 
sun.” 

“I can’t stand people making love to one another 
before everybody.” 

“Hush-hush!” Mrs. Ellestree stopped the girl in 
quick reproof. “You must not show your prejudices 
so strongly ! I want to introduce you.” 

Cuvier turned. 

“Let me introduce my niece . . . Mr. Cuvier . . . 
Why . . . Mary!” 

The girl had stopped dead, her mouth half-open, 
her eyes staring ; then, as a sudden rush of angry crim- 
son rushed over brow and cheek, and with a look in 
which scorn, hatred and disgust were nicely mingled, 


CONFLICT 107 

she had turned her back and marched up to the 
house. 

Cuvier was not a vain man, but Miss Van Hey ten’s 
disapproval seemed almost unnecessarily unatfected. 
He sought Mrs. Ellestree’s eyes in mild amazement. 


CHAPTER X 

“The man who cannot forgive ... is a green hand in life.” 

R. L. S. 

It was the peaceful hour that comes between tea 
and dinner ; the sun was nearing the willow-trees and 
the rover had turned to molten silver. The house- 
party was gathered together on the lawn, all sitting 
round the tea-table, too lazy to move. 

Cuvier still made his headquarters there, motoring 
backwards and forwards to the City. He lay now, 
tired and dusty after the daily spin, resting in the 
contemplation of Susan Ellestree’s reposeful fairness. 
There was a perfect contentment about her in these 
days that was pleasant to look upon. 

Cuvier still hovered on the borderland: he knew he 
had only to stretch out his hand to take this woman; 
knew that the moment w*as coming when passion must 
be avowed; and yet he lingered lazily. This quiet 
waiting-time was so comfortable he was loth to ex- 
change it for the more exacting pleasures of an open 
intrigue. 

Besides, while he found Susan Ellestree a refresh- 
ing change from the stereotyped gamins of the 
coulisses, she did not inspire him with any over- 
whelming passion. She was too certainly the property 
of man. 

Rosalys, the sensuous and emotional, would be 
harder to keep prisoner: such women swayed after 
every Jack o’ Lantern: coquetting for the joy of 
108 


CONFLICT 


109 


coquetry, affording continuous entertainment. Mrs. 
Ellestree’s loyalty once gained would be his for ever. 
Cuvier had no ambition for permanent relations with 
any woman. Yet his eyes did not leave Mrs. Ellestree. 
When one is tired and worried, certainty is soothing. 

Rosalys and the actor-boy were conducting an un- 
abashed flirtation, while the other men acted as 
interested audience. An atmosphere of intimacy was 
in the air. They had all been together for a week, 
and were advancing to the stage when freedom over- 
steps the bounds usually allotted it by conventional 
society. 

The spell of inaction had lasted long enough. Ro- 
salys lifted herself up from her chair. 

“Who’s for the launch? We shall have time for a 
run before dinner. Will you come, Sue?” 

“I should like to : I’ve been sitting still all day. 
Come, Mr. Cuvier. It will do you good to get a breeze 
after the City.” 

The group broke up following Rosalys and Mrs. 
Ellestree : only one was left, a youthful figure whose 
downbent eyes, in all the preceding interchanges of 
chaff and laughter, had not stirred from the pages 
before them. 

“Is Mary coming?” 

“Oh, I think not. She’s quite happy with her 
book.” 

Mrs. Ellestree did not encourage the suggestion. 
Between her and Mary a shadow had arisen, none 
the less substantial in that neither of the women had 
voiced the feeling. For though Mrs. Ellestree could 
still say to herself that she was doing nothing she 
need be ashamed of, yet she had begun to feel a relief 
when Mary was not with them. The Puritanical stock 
from which Mrs. Ellestree had sprung had its own 
way of asserting itself. 

The launch departed with its noisy freight, and 
the garden and the river sank back gratefully into 


XIO 


CONFLICT 


Nature’s stillness. The sunlight travelled slowly 
through the willow leaves, fading imperceptibly ; a 
quiet greyness began to steal out of the shadows. 
Mary lifted her eyes to where the clouds were rising 
in rose-pink masses, gloriously upwards to the flaming 
skies. 

Oh, the relief to feel they were all gone ! borne away 
on the smoothly-flowing highway, leaving the sunset 
and the peace unmarred by foolish laughter — and 
worse than foolish whispers. 

Her face was hard in its young severity: her eyes 
stern and lips set. The sensuous atmosphere with its 
lack of restraint and its incitation to one object only, 
the gratification of the senses, grated on her purity. 
Mary had been brought up in a grim school ; she had 
had no experience to teach her toleration. 

She could appreciate none of the qualities of the 
people round her: her stern sense of decorum blinded 
her to the fact that much of the foolish talk and 
careless handling was due to sheer excess of animal 
spirits. The manners of Bohemia are not those of 
business people ; and yet there may be virtue in 
Bohemia. 

But young people see no half-lights; just as Mary 
had idealised the London of her first experience, so 
did she wholly condemn her present environment. 

Only her love for Mrs. Ellestree caused her to 
remain in such unsympathetic company. Her ideal 
of Susan was shaking, but it had not fallen. It was 
as if she saw a radiant being turning her back on all 
possibilities and hastening eagerly towards the dross 
of life, to bury herself under it. She dare not leave 
her to her fate; and yet she could only watch in 
anguish. Comment from her would be impertinent: 
she realised miserably enough that Mrs. Ellestree 
would crush her protests with unanswerable sneers — 
a “provincial” was not fitted to judge her, still less a 
youthful, unversed business girl who had never known 


CONFLICT in 

man’s love. Though diamond-pure, youthful instinct 
counted for nothing. 

The wind that had ruffled the surface of the river 
through the long, hot afternoon had died away: only 
a trace of crimson remained in the heavens : still as 
silver, the river stretched in a broad sheet in which a 
little moon hung palely. Mary’s hands were folded 
in her lap : silent as the night which was descending, 
she stared before her. 

A centre of anguish, fear and rigorous condemna- 
tion, strangely alien to the calm acceptance of God’s 
jurisdiction shown by Nature round her. 

The one touch to make the landscape perfect, in 
the eyes of a romantic young gentleman who was com- 
ing down the lawn. 

It was Ferroll, arrived from London without warn- 
ing! He knew that Rosalys would always find a 
corner for him, and Mary was a potent magnet. He 
had seen a great deal of her before she and Mrs. 
Ellestree left town, and his interest had deepened with 
every talk they had. She was so self-reliant and 
yet so simple. Ferroll found himself missing her in 
a way that astonished him ; wherefore, being a 
true artistic vagabond, he had followed inclination 
promptly. 

“Hullo ! Are the others all out ?” 

“Yes.” 

“What a piece of luck !” 

Ferroll threw himself down on the grass without 
further ado : then looked up at Mary with the 
smile of an old friend. She drew herself up stiffly. 
The friendship had grown healthily and innocently, 
but now his presence was disconcerting: though 
Ferroll had not offended, he belonged to the other 
camp: she knew instinctively he did not feel to them 
as she did. 

Ferroll’s quick gaze soon read her discomposure. 

“What’s the matter ?” 


112 


CONFLICT 


“Nothing.” 

“Nonsense. You aren’t happy ?” 

“Not very.” 

“Why not?” 

Ferroll’s compelling will wrested confession from 
her. 

“I don’t like staying here. They . . . shock me.” 

“What do you mean by ‘shock you’ ?” 

“I can’t explain.” 

“Yes, you can. Out with it.” 

“I couldn’t to you.” 

“My dear girl, we’re friends. Think of the talks 
we’ve had.” 

“We were: but we can’t be now. You belong to 
them : you did before you met me.” 

“That’s rot. Every human being has the right to 
make and keep what friends he chooses, wherever and 
whenever he may meet them. I can listen to what’s 
worrying you without enlisting -on either side. It 
will be a good thing for you to have your trouble 
considered impersonally. Emotion obscures vision. 
Come along now! Tell me everything!” 

Mary hesitated: then pushed her hair off her fore- 
head with a desperate gesture. 

“I don’t like it. That is all. I have a feeling some- 
thing is happening which I don’t understand.” 

“I’d leave instincts alone if I were you. Don’t 
think at all : it’s not worth while.” 

Ferroll’s tone was kindly, but Mary detected a lack 
of sympathy. Her eyes flashed. 

“Perhaps you say it’s silly to be . . . good.” 

“I love you to be good.” 

Ferroll wriggled himself towards a chair, and 
propped his shoulders against the cushioned seat. 

“Good in your own way,” he repeated. “The old- 
fashioned sort of good. You’re such a help, Mary; 
your straight, stern little ideas are splendidly purify- 
ing. You believe in them so, don’t you?” 


CONFLICT 


ii3 

“Do you think people can be 'good’ in different 
ways?” said Mary, with fine scorn. “Women who let 
men make love to them, for instance?” The colour 
mantled at the words. 

“Live and let live,” said Ferroll philosophically. 
“Humanity’s a big thing to dispose of. One wants 
a lot of experience to judge with any attempt at fair- 
ness ; and even then ” 

“One doesn’t need experience!” Mary burst out 
in a flood of anger that could not be controlled. 
“However inexperienced one may be, one knows it 
isn’t right for women to let men pay them compliments 
all day and think of nothing but dressing up and 
going into pretty attitudes. I hate to see people 
kissing one another. It makes me sick. I’d like to 
set them all down, men and women, to book-keeping, 
or put them at a typewriter; anything to keep their 
minds on something besides this sickening love they 
talk of all the time. We don’t have business men 
like Mr. Cuvier in Birmingham. The men go off 
by themselves and keep together; they don’t hang 
round after women, and married women, too, reading 
aloud to them and patting their hands in punts. It 
makes me ashamed to be a woman. I want to get up 
and go right off and leave them. I do, most of the 
time. I know I’m called priggish ; I feel I ought to 
try to be broad-minded ; but I can't be — I can't 
be!” 

“Who’s Cuvier?” 

“Cuvier’s tube works. He’s very wicked and stay- 
ing here, and always with Mrs. Ellestree.” 

“O-ho! Sue’s flirting, is she?” 

Mary’s face was a miserable answer. 

“But you mustn’t take Sue’s affairs seriously. She 
doesn’t mean anything.” 

“She does. I feel she does. But I can’t say anything 
to her; she’d only call me silly and provincial, as you 
do. Only — if you love some one very much, and find 
8 


CONFLICT 


1 14 

she isn’t what you thought her, it makes you feel as if 
. . . you can’t bear it!” 

Ferroll remained silent: his face leant back, looking 
across the darkening sheet of water, past the willows 
(now a nest of shadows), past the sweep of meadows, 
further than eye could see. His features were set in 
serious lines. The careless adventurer, tasting life’s 
madness with rapturous zest, had vanished: in his 
stead a man, who was young still but who knew all 
things, spoke soberly. 

“You know, you’re rather hard,” said he. 

Mary experienced the sensation of an unexpected 
douche. A moment since she had rested in absolute 
infallibility; no question of the justice of her action 
assailed her. Now, Ferroll’s words struck her sensi- 
bility unpleasantly. The door of doubt in her judg- 
ment had opened, albeit the fissure was almost imper- 
ceptible. 

“I can understand that you feel out of it,” Ferroll 
continued. “I understand your not liking Rosalys, 
in one way : only you must make allowances for differ- 
ent temperaments. I’m not defending her. I know 
she’s very lax. But she has some splendid qualities, 
and you misjudge Susan when you think it’s only ma- 
terial pleasures that attract her to Rosalys.” 

Mary’s heart was beating hurriedly. Her position, 
in some unexplainable way, was no longer an heroic 
one. Something stabbed within her conscience. 

Ferroll continued inexorably. 

“She’s very fond of Sue,” said he. “And Sue loves 
being loved. She’s made like that ; it’s unfortunate for 
her, but she can’t help it. It’s a pity she hasn’t a too 
happy home life but she hasn’t, and women like Ro- 
salys warm her. There’s an atmosphere of big- 
hearted affection round them. Rosalys is wonderfully 
kind. She loves giving.” 

“You have to pay for it,” said Mary. Her look 
met his hostilely. “You have to give up disapproving 


CONFLICT 


H5 

of her. You must watch her kissing men, and pretend 
it’s beautiful. I don’t think what she has to give is 
worth one’s self-respect. Of course, a man can’t see it 
like that.” 

She hated all men in that black moment. Even 
Ferroll was like everybody else. The memory of their 
talks came back, filling her with bitterness. He might 
rail at the women by the roadside, but secretly he 
stood by them. 

“Oh, you know nothing of life.” Ferroll spoke in 
half-despair. He looked up at the set, youthful face, 
and his own softened. “See here,” said he, “I’m 
thinking of Sue. It isn’t fair to judge her as you’re 
judging. If she’d had a husband who wanted her 
loyalty she’d have given it him. You ought to know 
how staunch she is. But Tom’s wanted nothing from 
her except to be let alone. She’s had to fill up her 
time and her heart as best she could, and she’s had 
nothing worth while to fill them up with. It’s marvel- 
lous that she’s run as straight as she has. But she’s 
strong all through. She’s one of the people who could 
do the splendid things in life, and she would have done 
them if she hadn’t been a woman. Think of it! All 
her life she’s been brought up with the ideal of looking 
pretty and being charming to please man. If she’d 
only been born into the coming generation ! But as 
for condemning her, why Susan, as she is, is worth 
loving, yes, and honouring!” 

Memory is an uncomfortable possession. The vivi- 
fying love, and interest, and sympathy which Mrs. 
Ellestree had lavished on a shy and awkward business- 
girl were marching back in vengeful battalions. Susan 
was in need of friendship now : and the girl whom she 
had helped and warmed to life had drawn her skirts 
away, and from the cruel pedestal of young morality 
had judged her and condemned. 

Mary could not speak. She was groping vainly for 
the light. Her piteous look touched Ferroll. 


ii6 


CONFLICT 


“Don’t think I don’t see your point of view. I do. 
Only Sue has been such a friend to me. You don’t 
know how good she’s been. When everybody else was 
slanging, I could always count on her understanding 
and sticking up for me. I know her faults. She 
irritates me at times. But it’s one thing to criticise 
her and another to see you turning from her. It isn’t 
fair. You know so little: and she’s gone through so 
much. Has she ever told you how we were brought 
up?” 

Mary shook her head. Ferroll smiled in a tender, 
whimsical fashion. 

“No. She wouldn’t. She hates pity. But I think 
I want you to know. It will help you to understand 
our greediness of joy. You may have discovered we 
have both great potentialities of feeling? We’ve the 
Pagan joy in life, just as life: and all it holds, too!” 
Ferroll stretched his arms out behind his head: his 
eyes were bright. “Well, God, who in a moment’s 
carelessness gave us more than our fit share of 
capability of enjoyment, saw fit to make things 
even by planting us in a real old Puritan house- 
hold — a household where there was only one thing 
considered wickeder than happiness, and that was 
beauty. Our mother was a foolish, weak little 
thing who cringed to my father : he was a Methodist, 
the real old-fashioned Methodist. My God! How 
we hated him ! He was a minister, and the flock 
kept him. Don’t laugh : but it hurts us when 
we think of the contributions. I don’t mind. I’ve 
knocked about too much. But Susan — she has always 
hungered for a beautiful personality. She is so artis- 
tic, isn’t she? Have you ever noticed how delicate 
her hands and ankles are, and how high her instep is ? 
And all her tastes are just as dainty. She would 
cheerfully wear sacking, but she must have silk 
stockings. She would starve, but she must give 


CONFLICT 


ii 7 

presents to the people who love her. Well, think of 
that fastidious, generous, golden temperament in the 
back parlour of a Methodist parson.” 

“You were there, too.” 

“I was younger than Sue: she was old enough to 
help me. All the little happiness I had came through 
her. She used to read stories to me from smuggled 
story-books. We used to sit in an attic where they 
stored blankets and unwashed calico. I can smell 
them now. What a wizard Grimm is ! He carried us 
to pine forests ! I shall never forget the day when I 
first saw those forests in his land — Germany ! Later, 
we had Uhland; and later, Heine. What a country! 
All the enchantment of the world comes from it. 
Nowhere else has the real magic. I never see a Ger- 
man but I want to thank him for the gift of joy — the 
real simple child- joy — Germany has given to the chil- 
dren : and for the romance — the real magical romance 
— Germany has given to Youth. Oh, how we starved 
for both ! And how fresh and clean and fragrant were 
the tiny draughts we stole !” 

Ferroll was silent. His thoughts were back in the 
old days, when a little boy leaned his head against 
Sue’s knee and was transported to wonderful lands 
where gingerbread huts peeped out of dark and fright- 
ening groves. When footsteps creaked on the stair, 
and he pressed his face against the sheltering knee: 
when Sue, strong and calm, took the blame and 
punishment. 

“How I loved her! Can’t you imagine what she’d 
be? — dear, beautiful Sue. Then Tom came. She 
met him at a chapel concert. I was sixteen and 
wretched at the prospect of slaving at a desk. Two 
more years’ school for me was the wedding-gift she 
asked from Tom. I spent my holidays with them. 
Tom was very decent to me. He was still in love 
with Sue. Ye Gods! What a wife she was to him! 


n8 


CONFLICT 


Poor Sue! She brought such a wealth of love and 
loyalty: and he didnt want it. Just think! He 
didn’t want it. I could see that. I knew things, too, 
that a woman can’t know. He was unfaithful ... I 
don’t think she knew that ... I don’t know . . . 
Sue has never talked of Tom, even to me. She pre- 
tended she was happy, always! pretended to me, who 
knew every look, every tone . . . Even now . . . 
she shields him . . . though lately . . .” 

Ferroll broke off again. Mary’s hands were clasped. 
Her breath came in odd, anguished gasps. 

“Lately?” 

“Oh, nothing! Only sometimes . . . I’m afraid 
. . . that loneliness might . . . break down . . . even 
Sue.” 

Ferroll stopped abruptly: then pulled himself up 
with a careless laugh. 

“Well, that’s all. Now perhaps you understand why 
we feel we’ve a lot owing to us ! That we’ve been 
done out of the time when we ought to have had the 
best and keenest joys: and so, we’re rather expecting 
now. I, particularly. Sue's a woman, and women are 
used to having little. Besides, Sue’s been steadied by 
me and Tom. I’ve had no responsibility : only the 
bitterness and longing. Well, I’m making up for it! 
I take with both hands now: and enjoy it. Lord, 
how I enjoy it.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t.” 

“Why ? Do I frighten you ?” 

“I don’t know. Only I don’t like you when you 
look like that.” 

“Don’t be silly and girl-y. Why, Mary! d’you 
know I never meet a person without feeling they 
owe me something and must give it me. I starved 
for sensation : warm, human feeling : that was all. I 
feel that hunger still. I don’t believe I ever shall ap- 
pease it, though I drag the heart out of the whole 


CONFLICT 


119 

far world. I can’t let anything go by when I have 
the chance of grasping it. Every woman stirs me to 
adventure ! Every atmosphere cries out to me to taste 
it. Every purpose calls to me to follow. Life! Life! 
I want it all !” 

“We can’t have it all ! We’re sent into the world 
to learn restraint.” 

“Poor Sue’s learnt it.” 

Ferroll’s gaze sought Mary’s upturned countenance. 
The little figure in its prim blue suit, sitting stiff against 
the sky-line, was enormously attractive to him. Her 
rock-like purity made him angry with its hardness, and 
yet he respected it; she provoked him by her uncon- 
sciousness of his magnetism, and yet he was annoyed 
with himself for being provoked ; he valued their com- 
radeship, and yet some impish and adventurous instinct 
pricked him on to change it. The mere sight of her 
sent his blood leaping and turning in a thousand differ- 
ent eddies, and roused in him an overwhelming interest 
which a touch might turn to passion. 

Mary was sensitive of the subtle undercurrent that 
was creeping underneath their brief acquaintance; she 
showed it in the rush of emotion with which she 
responded to Ferroll’s plea. Susan Ellestree was 
still a bewildering proposition, only now that she 
was in Ferroll’s presence she felt more tenderly to 
her. 

Ferroll had called her hard. Her lips quivered as 
she answered — 

“I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t spoken so. Yes. You 
have made me understand things.” 

“It’s all right. It doesn’t matter what you say to 
me, does it?” 

Darkness was closing in : the moon, demurely 
white, was making a modest journey over the willow- 
tops. 

Mary was suddenly conscious of his beauty: spare, 


120 


CONFLICT 


alert and vigorous, crouching with easy grace at her 
feet. His fair hair waved back tempestuously. His 
eyes, arresting, compelling, shone out of the darkness. 

“But I’m afraid,” said Mary with a rush, “afraid of 
Mr. Cuvier.” 

“You needn’t be. She’s had temptations before now 
and resisted them. She knows if she didn’t she’d 
give herself too utterly. She can’t take things like 
I can.” 

Ferroll spoke half-absently. Mary’s personality was 
enthralling him. He put a sudden hand upon her 
knee. 

“What should you be like if a man loved you? You 
wouldn’t give yourself, would you?” 

“I?” 

“No. You’d make him want to pick you up and 
carry you off, just because he couldn’t make you care 
as men want women to care for them. Give up every- 
thing, see nothing but them, think of nothing. The 
only way would be to lift you off your feet and blot 
out the world. What should you do? You’d give in, 
wouldn’t you?” 

Ferroll became a misty figure — indistinct, unreal, 
only his eager eyes were there, calling, calling ! 

And then, like a silver note, sounding bugle-wise 
through the glamour, came Susan’s warning. “He’ll 
pass on.” 

Ferroll, scamp with a saint’s vision, saw the change. 
Reproach leaped up from his comrade’s trust, leaped 
up and gripped him. He gave an odd little gasp that 
sounded almost like an oath. 

“I’m a beast. Save me, Mary. I want to be friends 
with you. You’re worth it. Only don’t hold your 
chin up so. Look — look gentle. For heaven’s sake, 
don’t dare me. I — I don’t want to try and make you 
care. I could. I know I could. And you don’t believe 
I could. Be an angel. Say I could, but tell me that 


CONFLICT 121 

it will hurt you if I do. It will. I can’t stay with 
anybody, even you.” 

So spoke Ferroll to the first woman he had ever 
wanted, and respected. 

“You’ve never pretended that you’ll stay.” Mary’s 
words came in a hushed breath. Suddenly he was 
dear to her, so dear that nothing mattered but his 
presence. Mrs. Ellestree had always talked of love 
as transient; it passed, and Ferroll would pass, but 
why not enjoy it while it lasted? 

Ferroll saw her face softening, flushing, indescrib- 
ably attractive. He took his eyes away with a queer 
gulp. 

“Don’t be like the other women,” he said hoarsely. 
“Don’t snatch ; it’s not worth it, for you can’t keep me. 
I love you now, but I can’t stay prisoned in a woman’s 
heart, and when I want to go I must go alone. Then 
you’ll be left. Look at it, Mary. I’m here if you 
want me, but it isn’t worth while. You don’t know 
how I want to make love to you. I could make you 
care so much. Only — oh, save us both, dear! Show 
me it isn’t worth while.” 

“It is, it is,” shrilled some mad, youthful instinct; 
Mary clasped her hands, trying to beat it down. Then 
a flood of horror rushed over her, overwhelming in its 
revelation. Why, she was like Susan, or even Rosalys ! 
She had wanted to snatch at love, knowing it was not 
real ; had wanted to take the false gold, knowing the 
price of its bitterness — she who had condemned Susan 
Ellestree. She did not love Ferroll. She only loved 
the glamour that surrounded him — the maze of ro- 
mance and adventure. He was no sheltering force in 
whose strength she could rest safely. He was weak ; 
and in her soul she knew it. In his soul she felt the 
something lacking which she missed in Susan Ellestree. 

She started to her feet in desperate desire to cut the 
coil of emotional entanglements : then with a sensation 


122 CONFLICT 

of relief heard voices : the launch was returning with 
its load. 

“They’re back !” 

“Yes, but you’re not angry.” 

“No.” 

“And we’re to keep our friendship ?” 

“If you like.” 

The dusk enfolded them in intimate security : 
Ferroll was close beside her. His shoulder brushed 
hers. 

“You’ll come on the river after dinner?” 

Mary nodded. The people were landing. For a 
second a nervous hand caught hold of hers and held 
it tightly : then released it as the others came up. 

Ferroll advanced recklessly to meet the crowd of 
welcoming voices, one alone of which was tinged with 
more surprise than pleasure. Mrs. Ellestree did not 
unite in the burst of ecstatic rapture which came from 
Rosalys. She drew Ferroll aside promptly. 

“You know what I told you, Ferroll?” 

Ferroll put his arm about his sister wheedlingly. 

“Dear old Sue. It’s all right. We’ve had a ripping 
talk — all about you. I was telling Mary about the 
old life when you were so good to me.” 

Mrs. Ellestree disengaged herself, in no way touched. 

“I know those talks. No, Ferroll. I’m not pleased 
with you. I asked you to leave Mary alone, and you 
might have done that for me.” 

“I’m not hurting her.” 

Mrs. Ellestree turned her back and walked up to 
the house. Ferroll shrugged his shoulders. After 
the beautiful conversation in which he had just figured 
to such advantage, he felt ill-used. Besides which, 
town was very stuffy, and Rosalys’ bungalow idyllic. 
He felt Sue was very selfish. 

As he followed into the house, the little devil who 
was never long away from him began to stir engag- 


CONFLICT 


123 


ingly. Susan was perfectly ridiculous. He was going 
to enjoy himself! 

Meanwhile Mary had sought her room, to dress 
hurriedly, yet with more than usual care. Colour stiil 
flamed in her cheeks. Though reason had returned to 
her, the stimulant of Ferroll’s admiration remained, 
adding a new personal interest to the prospect of the 
evening. She put on her newest evening-frock, chosen 
by Mrs. Ellestree and of a virginal simplicity which 
emphasised her youth and slimness. “A thing of the 
forest and the starlight, not touched by the commotion 
of man’s hot and turbid life” ; a wind-flower fresh from 
Nature’s hand. 

They were dining on the lawn that evening; from 
her window Mary could see the tables, white-clothed 
and flower-strewn, with great crimson-shaded lamps 
tinting the shining napery and silver to a glowing 
rose-colour. Above the light, great trees towered, 
mysteriously dark and shadowy. 

It was a warm, still night, so still that no leaf 
stirred. After all it was as bad to attach too little 
importance to beauty as too much. Mary’s vision 
flashed back to other evening meals — cold mutton 
on a broken plate, eaten by the light of a single 
gas-jet. 

And the people whom she had hated had brought 
this revelation of the possibilities of daily life into her 
ken ! 

She lingered at the window, half-hidden by the 
honeysuckle vine which flung its sweetness into the 
room. Ferroll had made her ashamed and penitent. 
He was very broad-minded : and his passionate words 
came back to her, stirring her pulses. Things had 
decidedly changed for the better since his advent. 
Tenderness for all humanity rose up in her heart: 
and most of all for the boy who was so weak and yet 
so altruistic: so headstrong and yet so wise. She 


124 


CONFLICT 


could never love him in the fullest sense ; but his 
friendship was worth having. 

“Oh, God, let me remember always what Ferroll 
has done for me ! Make me tolerant . . . for his 
sake,” whispered Mary. “Let me be worthy of his 
belief.” 

She leaned her head against the window-pane. 
Rosalys had come out of the house. She stood just 
beneath the window, pulling a rose to fix into her 
hair; her shoulders gleamed in the lamplight. Yes, 
she was a great, beautiful child, made for life's 
enchantment. Mary looking down on her felt a thrill 
of generous appreciation. How beautiful — how mar- 
vellously beautiful she was ! 

She felt at charity with everything around her . . . 
Then Fate upset the picture, turning the obverse side 
with chuckling malice. 

The disenchantment was effected simply. 

Ferroll’s voice sounded underneath. 

“How adorable you look.” 

“You don’t mean to say you know I live?” 

“I’m rejoicing in the fact! I’m singing paens of 
thanksgiving. D’you know, I’ve never seen you look 
so beautiful ! Let me do that !” 

The graceful figure stood by Rosalys. His hand 
took the roses from her hold. Mary, wide-eyed with 
terror, saw their fingers touch and linger. 

“You dear ! Thank God for making you !” The 
words were breathed — scarcely aloud — but the girl’s 
strained ears heard. 

The figures moved a step into the shadow. There 
came a whisper, Rosalys’ soft, willing laugh . . . and 
then . . . 

She drew back suddenly, sick with anguish. Ferroll 
had yielded to his artistic temperament. He had kissed 
Rosalys . . . she had heard . . . and not once . . . 
not once . . , 


CONFLICT 


I2 5 


A slim, white figure came down to dinner rather 
late — a figure who sat rigidly through the many 
courses, giving short answers to her neighbours — a 
figure on whom Ferroll turned perplexed glances, 
seeking in vain to draw her into the mirth and 
friendliness. 

A figure which slipped away directly she might 
move, and who was not to be found when Ferroll 
followed some minutes after, not even in her room 
where a sympathetic housemaid ventured. 


CHAPTER XI 


“And lastly, he was male and she female, the 
fountain of interest.” 


everlasting 


R. L. S., Weir of Hermiston. 


The sun blazed fiercely into Clements Inn. Mary 
put down the cardboard box upon the table, and 
pushed her hair off her forehead with a dingy handker- 
chief. Everything was dirty up in London. She took 
up the string wearily and knotted it across and round. 
Susan had left at the flat an evening-gown, and Mary 
had been sent to fetch it. 

It had been a hot journey, and she had had some 
difficulty in finding the things Susan wanted. Now 
it was half-past three, too late for lunch, even if she 
had not been too tired to have desire for food. The 
dog-cart was to meet the train which left Paddington 
at half-past five, so she had some time yet to wait. 
The flat afforded no refuge from the sun; all the 
curtains and the blinds were at the cleaner’s. 

Mary felt she must get out of the glare and try 
and find some cool tea-shop where she could wait till 
it was time to go to the station. She carried the box 
out on to the landing, and rang the lift-bell. The 
carpetless stairs depressed her as she waited. Every- 
thing seemed deserted; the butterflies had flown from 
London, leaving it a hive of sordid drudgery. 

An apathetic porter at last ascended and bore her 
and the big cardboard box to the hot and dusty streets 
below. Mary still had a bewildered feeling in London, 
even when with Mrs. Ellestree. To-day she would 
126 


CONFLICT 


127 


have to find her way alone, and she experienced 
a sense of being about to launch upon a maelstrom. 
She walked down the sheltered yard of the Inn and 
turned into the Strand. The heat was terrible. Hot 
and dry, the very pavements burnt her feet. She 
looked through the windows of the restaurants, but 
found none inviting. She longed for a darkened 
room, where there was space, and quiet, and no smart 
waitresses who hustled people from their places 
directly their cups were empty. Mrs. Ellestree always 
took a ’bus to Piccadilly Circus for her shopping. 
The tea-shops would probably be more attractive in 
that neighbourhood. 

Mary took up her position on the kerb-stone, and 
after various unsuccessful efforts, found the right ’bus 
and entered it, wishing devoutly she had some one 
with her. The omnibus was crowded ; Mary, squeezed 
between two portly ladies, felt her headache growing 
worse at every jolt. When the ’bus reached Piccadilly 
she descended to discover she was facing a great glass 
frontage, filled with cakes and eatables ; through the 
swinging-doors passed a stream of people. Marv 
reached the threshold, and then hesitated. Every table 
seemed full. She did not like to walk in with the chance 
of discovering no seat vacant. 

“Pass along, please. Pass along, please. You’re 
blocking the way, miss.” 

The commissionaire held the door open. Mary dis- 
covered he was addressing her. 

“I was only looking. I’ll go somewhere quieter,” 
she said. 

“Then let the other folks in, miss !” 

Mary’s cheeks were scarlet. She turned with a 
bang and found herself an inch off the face of a 
young man, who had been waiting during the 
colloquy. 

“Oh!” said Mary. “Oh, I beg your pardon! I — 
I didn’t see.” 


128 


CONFLICT 


“That’s all right.” 

Surely she had heard that voice before. Mary 
raised her eyes, smarting now with foolish tears of 
weariness, and met the kindly glance of — yes it was — 
the young man who had come to see her at the office 
— Mr. Cuvier’s secretary. As she looked, recognition 
came into his eyes also. 

“Will you pass along, please?” The commission- 
aire’s wrath was increasing. Before Mary realised 
what he was doing the young man put his hand on 
her arm and guided her through the crowd of people 
in the doorway to the open street, then stood looking 
down on her protectingly. 

“It’s all right. They can pass now. Were you 
going to get some tea?” 

“It was so crowded. I didn’t like to go in. I — 
I’m not very used to London,” Mary’s face was 
white ; she stood clasping the cardboard box and 
looking up in sheer appeal. She dreaded seeing him 
depart and leaving her alone among the hurrying 
crowds. Her past resentment was forgotten. He 
showed genuine pleasure in the meeting; and she 
herself felt a wholly disproportionate happiness. 

“It is crowded, isn’t it?” Hayden Cobb’s voice 
came with matter-of-fact soothingness. He under- 
stood the girl’s feelings. London had seemed over- 
powering when he first came, fresh from school. 
“We’ll go across to the Criterion. Thrt’s cool and 
quiet.” 

“Is it . . . far?” 

“No; just across the Circus. I’ll take care of you.” 

With a nod to the policeman, he saw the traffic 
stayed, and escorted Mary across to the friendly pave- 
ment opposite. He felt an amused pleasure in assum- 
ing the role of guide and protector to the girl who 
had so challenged and defied him in their memorable 
interview. 

“Here we are,” said he. They passed another 


CONFLICT 


129 


commissionaire and found themselves in a darkened 
lounge, where great arm-chairs stood, and tables, 
prettily tea-clothed, and spread with cake and china, 
invited occupancy. 

Cobb perceived a table tucked away behind a screen, 
and led the way, Mary following with a sense of 
relief which made her lost to all convention. It was 
not till her companion had hung up his straw hat 
and sat down opposite, while an attentive waiter ran 
to fetch their tea, that Mary woke to a perception of 
the position. 

A crimson flush mounted to her forehead, then 
embarrassment rushed over her. She looked down 
at her plate, more wretched now than ever. How 
was she to pay, and how much was it? Would he 
offer to? She prayed fervently he would not; yet 
how to offer money before him? And how was she 
to talk to him? On the only occasion when they 
had met they had been so rude to one another. The 
memory of his kindly pity made her sore again. His 
manner and appearance struck her even more forcibly 
to-day, he looked so well in his straw hat and grey 
flannels. Then she heard her companion’s voice, and 
opened her eyes wide in sheer surprise. 

“I’m so glad I’ve met you again. I wanted to tell 
you how sorry I was I didn’t believe you at first. 
When I saw the news of Mr. Berryfield’s death that 
evening, I understood. I nearly wrote to you.” 

“It didn’t matter.” Mary was blushing again 
beneath the gaze of those kind, straightforward eyes. 
Foolishly enough, she was remembering the dreadful, 
old green dress in which he had seen her. She felt 
comforted by the knowledge of her dainty linen frock. 
Now she was neat. She sent a thankful, little prayer 
to Mrs. Ellestree who had transformed her. 

“It did matter. It made you feel sore; it would 
have made me. It’s good of you not to bear 
malice.” 

9 


130 


CONFLICT 


A smile appeared in the girl’s eyes, then vanished. 
The waiter had set the teapot on the table, and had 
laid down a bill beside the young man. 

Mary’s heart beat suffocatingly. Hayden Cobb was 
feeling in his pocket. She bent forward in desperate 
appeal. 

“Oh, please let me pay for mine!” she gasped. 
“It’s my tea. I mean — I shall feel so awful.” 

Hayden Cobb’s brow knitted in surprise. To let 
her pay was so against all canons of masculine 
chivalry that Mary’s terror seemed to reflect in some 
way on him. Then he saw her quivering mouth and 
realised her agitation. 

“Do let me,” said he. “It’s such a pleasure to 
have some one to talk to. Meals are rather a dreary 
affair when one lives alone. Besides, I invited you 
here.” He put the money in the waiter’s hand : Mary 
sat wretched, not knowing what to say. He took up 
the teapot. “Now how do you like it? Or would 
you rather pour it out for yourself ?” 

“I — I don’t mind,” said Mary. 

“Weak or strong, then?” 

“Strong,” said Mary, “that is ” Good heavens, 

if it came out weak. Yes; weak was safer. Suddenly 
the tears came into her eyes. The heat had tried 
her utterly: and the sense of obligation was too much 
for her. 

“Why, what’s the matter?” 

Cobb put down the teapot in alarm. 

“Oh, if you’d only let me pay,” gasped Mary. “I — 
1 can’t drink it unless you do. I really can’t.” 

The young man looked at her for a moment 
so astonished that he could not answer, then he 
understood. He put out his hand in a common-sense 
manner. 

“Of course, if you’d rather.” 

“How much is it?” 

“A shilling.” 


CONFLICT 


131 

1 

Mary put a shilling in his hand, he slipped it in his 
waistcoat pocket. 

“I shall keep this as a memento,” he said. “Now 
it’s your tea, so make it yourself just as you like it.” 

Mary caught the friendly twinkle and suddenly 
smiled back. Confidence had come to her. 

“It's so dreadfully hot!” She spoke half-apolo- 
getically. 

“Yes. You look as if the sea would do you 
good.” 

“I’m staying at a house on the river near 
Cookham.” 

“How jolly!” 

Mary drank her tea, but reserved assent. Her lips 
had tightened rather Puritanically. 

“Don’t you like the river?” 

“Not very much.” 

“I’m awfully keen on it. I punt a good deal. My 
chief is down there.” 

Mary’s cheeks flamed suddenly. 

“Mr. Cuvier?” 

“Yes. Why?” 

“Nothing — well, at least ” Mary hesitated, torn 

between honesty and discretion; then blurted out the 
fact, “Mr. Cuvier is staying with us.” 

“Mr. Cuvier !” 

The amazement in the young man’s voice was 
unmistakable. Mary had not impressed him as a 
girl who would be on visiting terms with people who 
knew Mr. Cuvier. His eye fell on the smart linen 
frock and French hat; he realised Mary had vastly 
improved in her appearance. She was almost pretty. 
He looked again at the grey eyes, clouded now with 
ill-suppressed dislike, and decided it was the most 
changeable face he had ever seen, a face he could not 
keep his eyes off. 

“I hope you have altered your opinion of him,” 
he said. “Do you remember how we quarrelled? 


132 


CONFLICT 


v 

You would have made me angry if I’d thought you 
meant it.” 

“I did mean it.” Mary’s lips came together in a 
tight line. 

“But what on earth possesses Berryfield’s ?” Cobb 
was staring at her in genuine perplexity. “What have 
we done to you? Upon my soul, these last three 
months Berryfield’s seems to have gone mad with hate 
of Cuvier’s as its form of lunacy. Why?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you know what your firm’s been doing.” 

“I don’t. I haven’t been there since the day you 
saw me. I haven’t even heard about anything.” 

“You’ve left?” 

Mary hesitated; then nodded. She had left — at 
present. 

“Have you got a berth in London then?” 

“Oh, no. I’m living with my aunt.” 

“I’m so glad.” 

“Why?” 

Mary’s surprise at the relief in the man’s voice 
rather confused him. 

“Oh, I dunno. A man never likes to see a girl work- 
ing for her living.” 

“Pity that a man doesn’t keep the girl, then.” 

“He might be very glad to if she’d let him.” 

Heated argument on any relationship between the 
sexes has an unfortunate knack of becoming personal 
— the more unwitting, the more embarrassing. Anger 
may have been the cause of the flush which dyed 
Mary’s face at Cobb’s impersonal words : it certainly 
lent brightness to the eyes which looked back at him 
with precisely the old insolence. 

“Some girls are fortunately independent of man’s 
kindness. What did you mean by your remarks on 
Berryfield’s ?” 

Mary was herself again: the frightened country 
mouse had vanished, and in her place was the alert 


CONFLICT 


133 


and independent young woman who had first won 
Cobb’s liking ; yet so strangely inconsistent is man, 
he did not appreciate the change. What is more, he 
had the audacity to say so. 

“Hang Berryfield’s. What does it matter? I want 
to forget that wretched day. I’d so much rather think 
of you doing nothing but just going on the river and 
enjoying yourself and resting. Tell me what you do 
all day.” 

Cobb had received some lively glances on the 
“wretched day” referred to : they were mild and 
playful compared to the lightning that flashed across 
the table now. 

“You would rather think of me doing nothing all 
day long! I dare say you would; I dare say, indeed, 
you would. But it’s pretty cowardly to say so.” 

“Cowardly? Good gracious” — as the almost for- 
gotten recollection of her foolish boasts came back 
to him — “you don’t think I want you out of the 
way? It’s too silly. ’Pon my honour, I’d entirely 
forgotten how you bragged about the things you 
were going to do. No, I didn’t,” hastily, as the 
storm-light gathered, “I thought it splendid of you. 
I liked your impud — p — pluck. You don’t know how 
often I’ve remembered you. Only — to imagine I 
attached any consequence to it is ridiculous. I was 
simply thinking of yourself, when I spoke, yourself 
as a girl.” 

“Can’t a girl be of consequence, then ?” 

“Rather !” Cobb’s eyes spoke more plainly than 
he knew. “Only in another sort of way. Please 
don’t talk about Berryfield’s and Cuvier’s. We shall 
never agree there.” 

“Never.” Something inexplicable and choking came 
into Mary’s throat, she felt an extraordinary depres- 
sion. It was quite true, they never could agree. Fi- 
nality is always cheerless. 

But as the subject which this boy in his ignorance 


134 


CONFLICT 


thought trivial was the pivot of her whole life, it was 
useless to stray into the pretty paths of a friendship 
which could never ripen. Also, duty clamoured, a shrill 
sentinel. She must sound him about Berryfield’s. 

So a stern young woman clasped her hands on the 
table, and said in a resolute voice, which yet had the 
slightest quiver in it — 

“As it happens, that is the only subject which 
interests me. I am in earnest. Please tell me what 
you mean by saying Berryfield’s is mad.” 

For a young man who took no interest in women, 
viewing them coldly as foolish and unprofitable 
investments in the exchange of life, Mr. Cobb was 
unreasonably irritated at Mary’s insistence on keeping 
the conversation to impersonalities. This was doubly 
odd, as he was singularly devoid of curiosity about 
his fellows. His father had been an officer in the 
Army, who had died in action when Hayden was 
a boy at school, and since then it had been borne in 
on him through bitter experience that no one cares 
very much for the dreams and hopes of anybody else. 
So he had set his teeth together and plunged grimly 
into the drudgery of office-work, intent on one thing 
only, to get a solid grip on the material things of 
life. 

The only person for whom he had any deep attach- 
ment was Simeon Cuvier, and for him he felt more 
than the usual compound of loyalty, respect and 
admiration which is experienced by a young man to 
a storm-battered and brilliant man of the world. 
Simeon Cuvier had stood by the boy in one of the 
biggest crises of his life: and had helped him, not 
only materially, but by complete understanding. To 
serve Cuvier was his only pleasure and ambition. 

Therefore, attracted as he was to Mary, he did 
not care to identify her with the firm which was 
displaying such bitter enmity to Cuvier. The scanty 
encouragement which his overtures of friendship had 


CONFLICT 


135 


received stung his pride, however; and he replied in 
as cool a voice as Mary’s. 

“Your friend Sanders continues to be busy, that’s 
all.” 


“Sanders !” 

The terror in the girl’s face was so vivid that the 
man relented instantly. 

“Oh, it’s all right. We know exactly what he’s 
up to : he can’t hurt us. He’s only cutting his own 
throat.” 

There was an unaffected confidence in Hayden 
Cobb’s manner, which made his hearer turn cold; he 
noticed her change of colour. 

“Has the sun tired you?” 

Mary nodded. She could not speak. What was 
Sanders up to? 

“Will you have some brandy?” 

She pulled herself together with a start. In her 
present nervous state the possibility of his guess- 
ing at the truth seemed imminent. She spoke 
hurriedly. 

“No, no. I’ve been ill, you know. I had brain- 
fever. And seeing you has made me think about all 
the things I’ve been forbidden to think about.” 

“Don’t say that. I didn’t want to talk of business. 
I said so.” 

“No. Only, when one has been away for so long, 
one can’t help wondering.” 

“How’ve they got on without you ?” 

Mary nodded in good faith, then saw the lurking 
twinkle in his eyes, and cast a furious glance — 

“You’re always laughing at me!” 

“You must admit you bring it on yourself.” Cobb’s 
voice was brotherly in its protectiveness, though 
humour still remained in it. “No one’s quite so im- 
portant as ” 

“As I think I am?” Lightning from the opposite 
side of the table. 


1 36 CONFLICT 

“Say it. You think me an absurdly conceited 
idiot?” 

Cobb cast a cautionary look around the room, then 
spoke with an odd tightening of his breath. 

“You’d be much angrier if I told you what I did 
think.” 

“That I think that I’m important?” 

“That you are !” 

His eyes met Mary’s, there was a silence inexpress- 
ibly dear, tumultuous and unnerving. Mary had 
prayed for Romance, it had touched her with Ferroll’s 
bewildering entrance on the scene, and behold, its 
wings were again circling round her in dusty Picca- 
dilly. An entirely strange young man had told her she 
was important to him! 

A very tame event to an experienced emotion- 
alist, but these young people were quite unversed in 
sentiment. 

Mary’s reception of the compliment exposed her 
inexperience. She turned quite white and said: 

“Oh, is it awful my having tea with you?” 

“Good gracious, no! We’re business people.” 

“But I’m not now.” 

“Yes, you are. We made friends in business, 
anyhow.” 

“Friends V\ 

A wintry little smile hovered in her eyes as the 
memory of that spirited interview came back to 
her. 

Cobb returned the smile, but nodded his head, 
too. 

“Friends,” he repeated ; “I want you to keep feeling 
that. And if there’s ever anything I can do for you, 
write to me at Cuvier’s. Now you will, won’t you? 
I’m not joking. I mean it.” 

“I haven’t many friends,” said Mary, “I’ve been 
too busy.” 

Hayden Cobb felt the same queer feeling of 


CONFLICT 


137 


protectiveness come over him ; he was not an 
emotional man, but he wanted to taki care of 
this forlorn, defiant little person, whose eyes were 
so grey and so honest, and whose mouth was so 
provokingly determined ; to take care of her and 
annoy her, and see her looking up at him with a 
sudden downfall of all her weapons, just as she 
did now. 

We have said Mary was not used to sentiment: the 
look in Cobb’s eyes made her get up very quickly. 

“I must be going,” said she. “You’ve been very 
kind. I do feel friends.” 

“That’s right,” said Cobb. “Keep on feeling it.” 
He had risen, too, and stood looking down at her 
as if he could not see enough of her. “And let me 
know if you come through town before you go back 
to Birmingham. I’d be so glad if you’d let me take 
you out to lunch. I’m prety busy at the office, but 
I can always manage an hour or so at lunch-time.” 

“Oh,” said Mary, “and I’ve kept you!” 

Cobb took down his hat. 

“Not a bit. Where are you going?” 

“Paddington. I’ve to be there at half-past five.” 

“You’ll only just do it.” He was looking at his 
watch. He snapped it, and slipped it back into his 
pocket. 

“If I miss it ! The dog-cart was to meet it. They’ll 
be so angry.” 

Mary was hurrying to pull out the cardboard box. 
He took it from her in a delightfully taking-it-for- 
granted fashion. 

“But you’re not going to miss it. Hansom, please.” 
They were at the door. A swift-flying hansom drew 
up with a jingle on the kerb-stone. “Get in!” His 
hand helped her. He turned his face up to the driver : 
“Paddington!” Then to Mary’s terror and delight, 
he ascended to the place beside her. 

“But you’re not coming. You mustn’t.” 


138 


CONFLICT 


“We’ll see.” 

“But I can manage perfectly.” 

“I’m going to put you right into that train,” said 
Cobb with invincible determination. “You’ve no 
business to be finding your way about London by 
yourself. We’d have you getting to the wrong plat- 
form, and you’ve only just time.” 

“It’s so kind,” murmured Mary, and forbore to 
protest. Somehow she felt sure she would catch the 
train, if he came with her ; but by herself, turned adrift 
in a crowd of cab-drivers and porters ! Mary resigned 
herself with unaffected relief to the capable direction 
of her new-found friend. The fact that they had met 
in her Birmingham office seemed to give their ac- 
quaintance a home-like feeling. Her native city was 
growing very dear to her in this overpowering wilder- 
ness of elaborate sentimental women, and wicked brutal 
men, all of them possessed of such knowledge, such 
clever tongues, and such contempt for the Provinces. 

Men and women jostled past in a tumultuous stream. 
It was hot, but Mary’s spirits were unaccountably high. 
Life rolled out in gay pageantry. The sunbeams 
sparkled in her eyes. She held her head erect, and 
smiles flashed in and out of her serious face. 

To both of them the day was marked out from the 
general round. A day when in the midst of strife 
and frenzy of their business world, Romance came 
with its banners flying, its spear-heads sparkling, to the 
intoxication of youth’s music, the rhythm and the 
swing of it. 

Great purpose, high standards, strenuous endeavour 
held these two, but youth’s voice sang louder still ; 
and the day which outwardly had little to distinguish 
it, left these young people with beating pulses and a 
sense of new-born joy in life. 

When Mary had bidden a shy good-bye through 
her third-class carriage-window, she carried with her 
the memory of a firm hand-clasp and a comforting 


CONFLICT 


139 


voice that said, “You’ll be all right now.” This was 
not quite accurate, for Cobb's words about Sanders 
had filled her full of fear; but the fact that she had 
met the attractive secretary from Cuvier’s again and 
had discovered she was “important” to him, was an 
alleviation in her brimming cup of worry. 

As the train whirled along, she leaned her head 
against the dusty cushions with a queer sensation 
of relief. It was a comfort to feel there were people 
in the world whom one might trust absolutely. She 
had only seen him twice, but she knew that Hayden 
Cobb was a tower of strength. 


CHAPTER XII 


“ Be a man and fold me with thine arm ! ” 

R. Browning, A Woman's Last Word. 

“ She was a miller’s daughter: 

She lived beside the mill ! 

Thick were the flies on the water, 

But she-e was thicker still ! ” 

The vulgar words came lilting through the still 
night-air; a banjo was twanging, voices and laughter 
made a pleasant undercurrent. They were all out 
upon the lawn, grouped like a camp, fantastic in the 
moonlight. Between the willow-branches Mary could 
see the picture, the moonbeams gleaming on the 
naked shoulders of the women, sparkling draperies 
slipping on to dew-wet grass, cigarette smoke trail- 
ing through the darkness, weighted with the scent of 
flowers. Mary's eyes turned in sick disgust from 
where the young actor lay on the rug at Rosalys’ 
feet, his head upon her knee, while she leant over him 
stroking the waves of his wheat-coloured hair ; turned 
to fall on a more disturbing sight — two figures sitting 
apart from the others — Mrs. Ellestree in a black gown 
of provoking chastity and a great leonine figure, lithe 
and lazy, stretched beside her, his sleepy eyes fixed 
on her. 

Restless the summer night, full of scents and 
whispers, which called insistently to waking senses 
fanning them into overpowering dominance. A dan- 
gerous night for Pagan consciences! 

Mary was sitting in the deserted launch. She had 
140 


CONFLICT 


141 

escaped directly after dinner. If she had avoided 
Ferroll the night before, how much more did she feel 
repelled now after her experience in town. She was 
ashamed of the fascination he had exercised over her 
and still exercised to some extent. The mystification 
in his glances touched her. He looked so boyish and 
so hurt, as if a trusted comrade had suddenly deserted 
him. She had deserted him. In her heart she knew 
she judged him more hardly because she contrasted 
him with Cobb. She had to recall Rosalys firmly. 
She had been lifted out of the atmosphere of self- 
indulgence; had taken in a breath of keen and brac- 
ing air. Her face blushed in the darkness at the 
thought of Cobb among these people. How he would 
detest them! He belonged to a different class: 
quiet, well-bred simple people of clean ideals and 
strict code of honour. He was matter-of-fact, good, 
upright. She trusted him with her whole heart, there 
was no feverish uncertainty about him : she rested in 
his kindness. Her thoughts turned to him irresistibly 
through dinner. She had scarcely heard Ferroll’s 
pleading whispers. She was thrilling with excitement, 
but it was the excitement of the soldier who hears the 
first faint bulgle-notes warning him of danger. 

Hayden Cobb had reminded her of Berryfield s and 
Sanders, and the myriad responsibilities that were 
waiting. As she sat there, she was determining to 
return. She was much better now, and she would not 
stay on in Rosalys' house. It went too much against 
the grain. 

Her devotion to Mrs. Ellestree had brought her 
here, but Berryfield's came first. If Berryfield’s 
needed her, she must go. Cobb had not approved of 
girls working: she raised her head, stimulated and 
mischievous; she wanted to go back and fight! 
Wanted to win ... to show her mettle. She wanted 
to crush Cuvier's: her hate of the man was mixed 
with an unacknowledged tinge of jealousy. He was 


142 


CONFLICT 


utterly immoral and unscrupulous : yet the two 
people whose opinion she valued, and whose strength 
she looked up to most, had fallen captive to his 
dominance. She would not surrender so weakly. 
She had the power to hurt this man and she would 
use it. 

To Birmingham in the morning! She had decided 
it. With her hands clasping her knees she sat in her 
cache, thrilled with anticipation of the business 
fight, whose forces she would lead again to-morrow. 
The sensuous indolence which she was leaving 
became of small importance. Her ears were filled 
with the clash of steel; her eyes with intricate prob- 
lems. She was no longer a girl, miserable in her pure 
and outraged maidenhood ; no longer a woman 
insulted by a man’s easily-transferred affection : no 
longer an idealist, waking to the bitter knowledge 
that idols may falter in self-restraint and wisdom. 
She was the head of Berryfield’s, the ruler of an 
industry ! 

Power is a great anodyne. To some natures a 
complete one. Mary had too much loyalty in her 
composition to be able to cut free entirely from 
personal ties. 

Voices came rudely into her dream, and its glory 
departed. She was again a wretched heart-torn 
moralist, watching evil overtaking and corrupting 
those whom she held dearest. 

Two people had come down to the bank. She was 
concealed from them by the willow-trees which swept 
the water : but though she was in shadow they were 
in bright moonlight. They were Mrs. Ellestree and 
Cuvier. 

They talked for a few moments, ectasising on the 
beauty of the night. Every word came to her — the 
idle words fringed with hidden meaning when a man 
and woman are slipping steadily into the abyss of an 
intrigue. 


CONFLICT 


143 


Cuvier put out his foot and touched the punt-side: 
then dropped lightly into it. He knelt down feeling 
the cushions. 

“They’re not damp. It’s so warm and dry to- 
night. Still I think you ought to have something 
with you in case it gets colder on the water. It would 
be a bore to have to come in.” 

“You talk as if we were going to have an all-night 
sitting !” 

Cuvier looked up, half-kneeling in the punt. His 
silence was more meaning than any words could be. 

“I don’t think I’ll come.” 

Mrs. Ellestree spoke tremulously. She stood un- 
certainly upon the banks, her black gown sheathing 
the fair whiteness of her shoulders. Never had she 
looked more completely beautiful. 

“Oh, yes, you will.” 

“Why should I?” 

“Because I want you.” 

There was passion in the man’s voice — savage, 
brutal. 

“I thought you never wanted . . . women.” 

“I said — not often — I want you as a starving man 
wants bread, or a drunkard brandy. Will that satisfy 
you ?” 

Susan Ellestree lifted her face to the stars. Joy 
played round her illumining and glorifying. The 
cup was offered to her: all her senses cried to her to 
take it. She had roused desire in this man: he had 
avowed it : he bowed before her, pleading. 

“Don’t let’s waste all the night, or the other will 
come down on us. Tell me where I can find 
something.” 

“I’ll go.” 

“Let me.” 

“You’d bring something hideous.” With a laugh, 
Mrs. Ellestree started up to the lawn. 

Cuvier settled the cushions in the punt, pulled a 


144 


CONFLICT 


cigarette out, and struck a light. The match flared 
up, throwing a momentary radiance on the boat- 
house. His eyes met Mary’s. 

The match dropped in the water with a hiss. 
Cuvier took a meditative step down the punt and 
knelt to untie it from the launch. 

“A nice evening, Miss van Heyten,” he said 
pleasantly. 

Mary did not answer. Her hands were clenched 
on either cushion. 

“I wonder if you could help me to untie this. If 
you would be so kind as to hold a match ?” 

Mary’s breath came quickly. Cuvier was standing 
waiting. In spite of herself, she moved unwillingly 
towards him. 

“So kind of you !” Cuvier struck a light. “Will 
you hold it, so?” 

Mary’s face was illumined. Cuvier’s half-shut eyes 
saw, while they apparently were bent upon the rope. 
The match flamed down to her finger-tips. She re- 
linquished it with a start of pain. 

“Have you burnt yourself?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“But it does. Let me see.” 

Another light shone out. Cuvier was not looking 
at the hand he held. “You don’t seem to be putting 
in a very good time here.” 

The hand struggled. 

“I should advise you to go up to the others. It 
isn’t good for any one to sit out in the damp. Makes 
one morbid. Take my advice!” Cuvier relinquished 
her hand easily. 

“I’m afraid I don’t fit in with them.” Mary’s voice 
came stiflingly. 

“Why not ?” Amusement sounded in the level tone. 
Mary heard. Her throat was dry. The passionate 
defiance could find but poor expression. 

“I’m a business person.” 


CONFLICT 


145 


Cuvier looked through the darkness at her, not un- 
kindly. The moonbeams shone serenely on her white 
face, wretched against the willow-shadows. 

“Want to get back to harness.” 

“I'm not allowed to !” 

Mary’s hands were clasped, trying in vain to keep 
calm. A smile flickered momentarily round Cuvier’s 
mouth. He guessed it would not be easy to escape 
from Susan Ellestree’s firm rule. Was he not here? 
He felt a tinge of comradeship for the other worker, 
prisoned in this pleasure-garden. 

“I sympathise, but if you can’t see your way to 
leaving, it would be wise to make the best of it.” 

“One can’t make good out of evil.” 

“Evil !” 

Cuvier’s lips curled unsympathetically. He looked 
down on her with barely concealed insolence. 

“You don’t call spades tea-spoons, Miss van Heyten. 
So refreshing to meet young people who still diatribe. 
Which of us is bound for the Bottomless Pit? or is an 
escursion starting?” 

Miss van Heyten returned his gaze with fully ade- 
quate expression. Cuvier met the glance, and felt a 
fighting spirit rising up in him. This was no bread- 
and-butter school-girl to be cowed by ridicule. 

Yet prepared as he was for the clash of steel, the 
onslaught astonished him. 

“You have been bankrupt once, Mr. Cuvier, I have 
a feeling you will soon repeat the process. It won’t 
be so easy to rise again at fifty.” 

It was a chance shot ; it must be a chance shot ; yet 
it fell home. Its unexpectedness left him speechless. 

“Then perhaps you’ll understand the feeling of 
being in a world where there’s no place for you. I 
hope you will. It won’t be my fault if . . .” The 
words broke off shortly. 

“May I ask the reason of your flattering zeal ?” 

Silence. 


10 


146 


CONFLICT 


Cuvier struck another match and held it up 
deliberately. 

‘‘When I have enemies I always like to meet them 
face to face,” he said in accents whose humour had 
returned. “Especially such a powerful one!” 

The words had an extraordinary effect; the flicker- 
ing light showed a pale face, staring at him as though 
he placed his finger on its secret. 

Then the sound of a snatch of song made them 
both turn quickly. 

Susan Ellestree was coming across the grass, the 
boat-house shielded them momentarily, in another 
minute she would see them. 

One of those unexpected deeds of kindness that 
shot up through Cuvier’s life without reason or warn- 
ing, entered now. The girl had insulted him, but her 
foolish gibe struck him as the frenzied anguish of a 
little rat against the wall. He had too great a con- 
tempt for her personality to take her seriously, yet he 
was sorry for her. She was so tragically impotent. 
He spoke quickly. 

“Miss Heyten. I’m really rather sorry for you. 
You’re up against too stiff a proposition. If you ever 
have the pluck to clear out, come to me. I’ll find you 
a job. I must go now. Mrs. Ellestree will see us. 
But here’s my card.” 

With a swift stroke Cuvier sent the punt along the 
bank. It was at the steps as Mrs. Ellestree appeared. 

Mary was left clasping a small white card, more 
angry than she had ever been. Cuvier had pitied her. 
Cuvier had offered to find her work — to help her ! 
And before her very eyes, the drama in which he 
played so terrible a part was being acted! 

He had lifted Mrs. Ellestree into the punt, his arms 
did not at once relinquish her. She extricated 
herself. 

“Hush! That’s forbidden 
“Nonsense.” 


CONFLICT 


147 


To the girls fancy, his voice sounded with brutal 
loudness, defying, mocking. He was absolutely re- 
gardless of her presence, as if she were too insignifi- 
cant to be treated with common decency. 

“I shall be afraid to go out with you/’ 

“Don’t say that. Have the courage of your wishes ! 
I insist on fulfilling the demands of my nature — the 
sinful clamorous nature that God in His humour be- 
stowed upon me. Have like courage. Be a fellow- 
sinner.” 

The words were bold, the voice bolder. Cuvier was 
on accustomed ground. He had not patience with the 
humours of his prey, no sense of privacy, the whole 
world might see him make off with this woman. 
Mary’s presence mattered nothing to him. Indeed he 
had forgotten it. 

“But I don’t want to be a sinner, they go to such 
unpleasant places.” 

“Under plane-trees!” 

“Spidery plane-trees!” 

“Whither thou goest . . . Come along, Mrs. 

Ellestree.” 

The voice was careless in its authority. 

Susan sank down on the cushions with a lilting 
laugh. 

“Whither thou goest . . . take me, then!” 

Joy rang through the accents. Who would dash 
the cup from one so piteously eager, so piteously 
exalted ? 

Cuvier slung the pole by his side, then took up a 
paddle. 

The punt began to move. 

“Not far.” 

Cuvier said nothing; he paddled with swift, slow 
strokes, into the black shadows of the sweeping plane- 
tree. The ripples settled into stillness. 

Mary sat motionless. She was powerless. If she 
had had wisdom, wit, experience, she might have 


148 


CONFLICT 


influenced Cuvier. She had prayed to save the 
woman whom she loved; chance had given her an 
opportunity, and found her tongue-tied, foolish, im- 
potent. How could she cope with these people? She 
could but tell them they were wicked, and they laughed 
at her ! She lifted her face in a mad rush of entreaty ! 
Surely the Power from whom came all instincts of 
purity and goodness could help the woman He had 
created. 

'‘Oh, God, you made her good! Keep her good! 
Take care of her!” 

The prayer was to receive swift answer that night, 
at any rate. Cuvier’s impatience might have been 
forewarned. Hardly had the plane-tree’s leaves sub- 
sided into immovability, when voices calling sounded 
in the garden. 

“Cuvier . . . Cuvier . . . Hullo there!” Footsteps 
came running down the lawn. 

“Cuvier ... a messenger from town ! . . . 

Important !” 

Mary leant forward in the launch, curious, excited. 
Far down the bank she saw the plane-tree’s branches 
parting; the punt came forward. Cuvier jumped on 
to the bank, leaving Mrs. Ellestree to tie it to the rail. 
He was striding forward. 

“It’s all right, thanks ! I see him.” A well-known 
voice sounded behind. She looked around. Between 
the willow-branches she saw Cobb’s strong young 
figure advancing, the other man stopping abruptly as 
if impatient of the interruption. 

“Well?” 

“Reich has wired to say , he won’t grant a day’s 
extension. He’s sold the second option to Sanders of 
Berryfield’s.” 

“What! They did get wind of it.” 

“Yes, sir. They’ve done more. If they’d been 
making any tests they couldn’t have concealed the 
fact. They’ve made none. They’ve tapped ours.” 


CONFLICT 


149 


“The damned thieves. Well, we have still ten 
days. The report of the last test should be in by 
then.” 

“It isn’t certain. You see, that was the information 
Sanders bought. I feel it’s my fault to some extent. 
If I’d seen Sanders . . 

“It would have done no good. Berryfield’s is a nest 
of scum like him. Such men aren’t kept in decent 
firms. We sent them proof of what he is, and he’s still 
there. Never mind; they haven’t won yet. If the 
test is right, we’ll close in time, anyhow we’ll make a 
fight for it.” Cuvier drew his watch out. 

The boy’s voice rang tersely. “There’s a train up 
at 10.15.” 

“It’s just ten.” 

“We could make it, if we ran.” 

“Yes. Perhaps it would be better. We could go 
down to the works and see how the tests shape. As 
time’s important now, they must work double night- 
shifts. We can put on extra men to-night. We shall 
be there by twelve. In good form for a sprint?” 

“Rather!” 

“We’ll slip out by the side-gate. This way.” 

The footsteps passed. The men had gone. The 
syren’s voice had pierced through the passion-scented 
air, and her devotees were hurrying to her, caught up 
resistlessly, though love waited on the very point of 
yielding. A few minutes since, Cuvier waited on 
Susan’s accents. Now Susan’s very memory was 
swept from the minds of those whose life she had 
been dominating. 

From the busy world, the syren shrieked, and Cuvier 
had obeyed without a second’s hesitation. 

While Mary . . . 

Terror stared out of the rushes. Terror white- 
face, wide-eyed. Berryfield’s disgraced ! Berry- 
field’s name blazoned in infamy abroad, while its 
guardian rested all unconscious, out of sight and call. 


150 CONFLICT 

She got up mechanically, her brain was Hazed and 
numb. The shock had obliterated everything. 

One thought only grew out of the blinding dark, 
one thought like a tongue of fire. 

She must go ... to the helm. 


CHAPTER XIII 


. the laughing loves 

Around thy base, no longer pause and press? 

. . . about thy rim 
Scull-things in order grim, 

Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress?” 

R. Browning, Rabbi Ben Ezra. 

Sunlight in Mrs. Ellestree’s room ; sunlight on the 
gay chintz-covered dressing-table, loaded with its 
glittering panoply of silver; sunlight lying in streaks 
on the white bed-spread and glinting on the breakfast- 
tray, and even adventuring to Mrs. Ellestree’s face, 
propped up against a muslin-covered, ribbon-threaded 
pillow. Here the sunbeams found no welcome, so 
stopped to flicker mockingly on the myriad little 
lines and hollows which no smiles sent driving into 
dimples. 

“But, my dear child, why do you propose to go like 
this?” 

“I must go back to the office.” 

“You aren’t to think of work for months. What 
has put it into your head ?” 

“I can’t tell you. I must go.” 

The girl’s eyes met the woman’s squarely. Mrs. 
Ellestree realised her rule of might was over. Yes- 
terday she had stood in unquestioned sovereignty; 
now all was slipping. 

She had drunk deep from bitterness last night 
while she waited for Cuvier’s return, deeper still when 

151 


152 


CONFLICT 


she sought the house to find that he had gone without 
a word ; and though the wire that had come this 
morning brought consolation, the sleepless night 
had left her ill-prepared for Mary’s pronouncement 
of desertion. 

“And you won’t tell me the reason?” 

Mary laid her hand upon the bed-rail, fingering it 
nervously. If Mrs. Ellestree had not known Cuvier, 
she would have confided in her, but some instinct 
warned her into prudence. A homely saying of Mr. 
Berryfield’s flashed through her head with sudden 
force. “When in doubt, keep your mouth shut.” It 
was as if he stood by her speaking. Her gaze 
looked past Mrs. Ellestree, her mouth closed in a firm 
line. So might Joan of Arc have looked, defying her 
persecutors. 

“No, I can’t.” 

“Just as you like, dear ; if you really feel you ought 
not to tell me I won’t question. But you mustn’t go 
quite so suddenly !” 

Susan Ellestree was a marvellously just woman. 
If Mary wished to guard a secret, she would not stoop 
to tease her for it, only she must point out wisdom ! 

“If you run off like this, it will be so rude to 
Rosalys.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You have made it evident to everybody that you 
have not been very happy here.” 

“I can’t help that.” 

Tears were near — smarting, anguished tears. No, 
she had not been happy. She had been hurt — bitterly, 
foully hurt. 

“You might have helped showing it so plainly, 
dear.” 

Mrs. Ellestree spoke with a gentle reproof which 
made the girl feel disagreeably guilty. 

“I think it is my duty to disapprove of ... of 
people like . . . Miss Benton.” 


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153 


'‘But not when you are staying in Rosalys’ house. 
Oh, my dear, I know it’s only youth and ignorance; 
but you can’t expect other people, who don’t know 
you as well as I do, to trouble to find excuses for 
you. I can’t tell you how your behaviour has hurt 
me. I hate people to get such a wrong impression of 
you.” 

“If everybody hates me, I should think that’s all 
the more reason why I had better go.” 

Mary’s face was afire; she turned her head away, 
choking, mortified. 

“No. It’s all the more reason why you should 
stay and make everybody love you as I do. They 
are all ready to, if you’d only let them.” Mrs. Elles- 
tree stretched out her hand. Mary took a step towards 
her suddenly. 

“I’m not going because I want to leave you. I do 
feel grateful ... to you. I do love you.” 

“Of course you do.” Mrs. Ellestree leant her face 
against the girl’s flushed cheek. “I know you do. 
Rosalys does behave foolishly. I couldn’t do the 
things that she does. But there’s no real harm in 
her. She’s only an overgrown baby, with the kindest 
heart in the world. There’s lots of good in Rosalys. 
Try and see it. It will make you ever so much 
happier to look for the good there is in people instead 
of wanting to form them all into one patera. Gentle- 
ness and cheerfulness, these come before all morality. 
Don’t judge, Mary! Think of the difference circum- 
stances make in people’s characters.” 

“Oh, that’s it !” Mary looked up passionately. “It’s 
her life that makes her as she is. I see that. It’s the 
dreadful idleness. But that doesn’t make one enjoy 
being with her ; nor right to be like her.” 

For some unexplained reason Mrs. Ellestree 
coloured. 

“Who is to say what is right? Rosalys gives out 
more love and kindness than thousands of church- 


154 


CONFLICT 


going women. I would rather be like her than most 
of the women I know. Women are so small and so 
intolerant/’ 

“Oh, don’t be like her ; don’t be like her.” 

Mary held on to Mrs. Ellestree’s hand in a rush of 
terror. 

“You silly baby. I’m like myself and no one else! 
There !” Mrs. Ellestree kissed the little, tear-wet face 
pressed close against her. “Now take your hat off, 
and then you may come back and ” 

“But I’m going.” 

“Going?” 

Mrs. Ellestree loosened her hand; there was a mo- 
ment’s silence, then the words came rather hardly. 

“Mary. I don’t often ask people to do anything 
for me. But if I ask you to stay ... to help me.” 

“Help you?” Mary turned her face with a dawn- 
ing light in it, her voice was hushed to a reverent 
whisper. 

“Yes. Do you know what people will say if you 
go now, like this? They’ll say I sent you, or that 
you left because you had discovered something against 
me.” 

Mrs. Ellestree struggled with herself, then laid her 
hand on Mary’s. “I don’t talk about myself very often, 
do I?” 

“No.” 

“It — it isn’t easy for me to tell people things, and 
especially you. I wanted you to be so happy. I 
hated to think of you knowing I was sad. I haven’t 
the best of husbands. Perhaps you guessed that?” 

Mary nodded mutely. 

Mrs. Ellestree took a deep breath. It was hard in- 
deed to speak. The bulwarks of her pride stood 
high. 

“Tom has never made a friend of me, you see. He 
despises women. He likes to kiss me, and that’s all. 
Never to talk, never to give his confidence. His work 


CONFLICT 


155 


is quite apart from me, it always has been. Oh, Mary, 
it isn’t pleasant to live with some one who thinks of 
you as a sort of household animal, to be fed and 
occasionally petted, but never treated as a being with a 
brain or soul. Well, that’s my tragedy. Any woman 
with a pretty face would fill my place as well as I do. 
Better, perhaps. Tom never has pretended any very 
overpowering affection for me. He doesn’t need 
women in his life. He’s so keen on his work and 
clubs. He’s a man’s man.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you, dear.” 

Mrs. Ellestree held the hot, small hand in hers in a 
grateful clasp. 

“You’ve helped me a lot by your little girl’s love. 
I’ve wanted to have children, only Tom — well, he’s 
too concerned about his creature comforts. He hates 
domesticity. But I’ve liked to pretend that you’re my 
daughter.” 

“I love you as much.” 

“Oh, my dear, I need you.” 

Susan’s eyes were wet. She brushed her face against 
the pillows, trying to laugh. 

“Women are so silly. They never can talk without 
crying. Well, you understand now, how much friend- 
ship means to me. Mr. Cuvier is going to be a great 
friend of mine; he’s come into my life just when the 
loneliness was becoming almost unbearable.” 

Mary’s heart grew cold. 

“He cares for me as I’ve always longed to be cared 
for. I can’t tell you what his affection means. There’s 
no need to be afraid. I am not going to do anything 
silly. Only I have just had a wire from him, asking 
me to meet him in town to-night, and dine, and have a 
talk : and you see how bad it will look if I go back and 
stay all night in the flat alone.” 

Mary was silent; memory was dancing mockingly 
before her : the quiet river rippled past with a rocking 


CONFLICT 


156 

punt, and a man standing in it holding some one . . . 
their heads together ... he had kissed the woman, 
she was sure of it. Friendship ! It would not stop 
there: the future opened yawningly. She shuddered, 
but could say no word : horror and compassion fought 
within her. 

“Mary, you must come with me. I really need your 
help. You’ll do this one thing for me, because you 
love me.” 

Susan Ellestree’s voice came quickly, feverishly. 
Mary’s silence chilled her. If she should not come ! 

Until that moment, Mrs. Ellestree had not under- 
stood how much Mary’s affection meant to her. She 
realised she counted on it, as she counted on Ferroll’s 
love. Ferroll had grown up now and was sometimes 
critical : but Mary’s faith and worship had been as 
implicit as the old-time trust of the little brother whom 
Susan once had “mothered.” 

And just as the child’s love had filled her starved 
girlhood, so had Mary’s love come to cheer her lonely 
wifehood. 

Lately Mrs. Ellestree had been conscious of a faint 
chill in Mary’s manner. Now she read condemnation 
in her silence. 

She was right in her intuition. Youth sees all things 
in uncompromising distinctness. 

“I could not help you to meet Mr. Cuvier.” 

The words fell like a bolt from empty skies. Mrs. 
Ellestree was ignorant that Mary had witnessed the 
scene on the river-bank: equally far from her mind 
had been the idea that Mary had noticed anything, or 
noticing, would judge. Mary to disapprove of her, 
the woman who had been her philosopher and guide; 
who had lectured, encouraged, moulded her! The 
situation was . . . was monstrous. We have said that 
Mrs. Ellestree was a proud woman: one quality how- 
ever was stronger than her pride, and that was her 
dependence on the affection of those she loved. 


CONFLICT 


157 . 

That Mary dared to pit her puny judgment against 
hers, angered her in some degree, but that Mary had 
apparently cut loose from the ties of worshipping af- 
fection overwhelmed all other feelings. 

“You don’t mean that you don’t love me, Mary?” 

“I am not going to help you meet Mr. Cuvier 1” 

Hard is youth ! 

Impulsively it makes its idols, snatching poor 
humans willy-nilly from their fellow-mortals to erect 
them on pedestals that stretch into the skies. There 
they must stand, clothed in a glorious golden light 
which emanates from youth’s idealism. But when 
the golden-light becomes dulled by use, should youth’s 
keen eyes perceive a flaw in the whiteness, should it 
perceive the smallest human imperfection — Heavens! 
what a wailing and gnashing of teeth ! 

The idol is human: it has dared to have a human 
weakness. What treachery! What disillusionment! 
Down with a crash from its pedestal ! Sweep away 
the fragments! There is a bitter pleasure in com- 
pletely clearing false gods from one’s world. 

Mary closed her heart to all appeal. She had been 
taken in by that earnest voice, that wealth of tender- 
ness : it was tainted now. The Mrs. Ellestree whom 
she had worshipped was wicked: her wise kindness 
was hypocritical. 

She had let Mr. Cuvier kiss her, and was going up 
to dine with him; worst of all, she wanted Mary to 
help her in the intrigue. 

There was no mercy in the youthful eves. Hard 
is youth! 

“Is that your answer?” 

Mary bent her head. Mrs. Ellestree caught what 
shreds of dignity were left to her, and kept back the 
tears which came near to betray her. Mary had con- 
demned her absolutely, without even giving her a 
hearing. 

“You don’t want to hear what I have to say?” 


158 


CONFLICT 


“It would be useless/' 

“Oh, I wasn’t going to plead with you. Don’t be 
afraid. If the love you profess for me amounts to no 
more than that, I don’t want to justify myself to you. 

I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but I don’t want 
to tell you anything.” 

“What can there be to tell?” Mary turned half- 
wavering. Susan’s dignified acceptance of her attitude 
made her feel uneasy. Supposing there were extenu- 
ating circumstances ? 

“You know I don’t want to think badly of you. I 
... I had forgiven you for last night, even. I saw you 
when you went off in the punt. But after that — to 
go up to town to dine with him — oh, there can be no 
excuse for that.” 

“Who is making excuses?” Mrs. Ellestree raised 
a regal head. “I have no desire to. If you had loved 
me, you would have grieved for my sorrow, felt joy 
in my joy.” 

“Joy! It is a sin. Yes, sin! You oughtn’t to even 
speak to Mr. Cuvier — you’re married.” 

“Be silent ! You know nothing ! You have only 
the conventional morality. You are untouched by 
life.” 

“I will not be a cloak for you.” 

“Don’t be so absurd. I asked you to come because 
I wanted you with me to help me — yes, help me by 
your trust and love. It would have helped me if you 
had given it me when I asked for it. But instead 
you’ve talked like a district visitor. It has chilled me. 
I wouldn’t take you now.” 

Reproach was on her tongue, but she forbore to use 
it. She was very generous ; even in a bitter hour like 
this, she did not remind Mary of all the “benefits for- 
got” which Susan Ellestree had lavished on her. Poor 
recompense she had now ! 

Mary’s conscience pricked her. She fought down 
remorse, fearing lest it should mean weakness. Toler- 


CONFLICT 159 

ance meant acceptance. She must keep clear of it 
all. 

A harsh doctrine, harshly adhered to; but Mary 
was built of sterling metal, rigid and unyielding. She 
had the defects of her temperament. Her one desire 
was to free herself from this atmosphere of luxury 
and idleness: to free herself, and to go back to the 
working world — the working world where stern ideals 
reigned, uncompromising, with no half-way house of 
toleration opening enervating portals. 

And yet Mrs. Ellestree had been kind. She spoke 
with sudden intensity. 

“I must go. It’s on business. It's a matter that 
must be dealt with. But — oh, won’t you give up Mr. 
Cuvier ? I have thought so much of you.” 

Give him up ! Give up her most absorbing interest 
— the man whose slightest utterance was of moment, 
the giant who had strode into her life to hold it in 
eternal dominance! Give up Mr. Cuvier’s fascinating 
companionship, the triumph of his subjection, the glory 
of his homage, because a callow fledgeling thought it 
dangerous ! As if she, Susan Ellestree, could not 
control the dangerous element ! She, with her knowl- 
edge of the world, her infinite wisdom, and so strong 
a will ! 

It was not a woman, drifting wilfully along the tide 
of passion, who looked at Mary. It was a woman who 
was certain of her strength, fully resolved to hold back 
from undue abandonment. 

“You are being rather impertinent and extremely 
foolish,” she said, quietly. “If you are determined on 
going, I think you had better go.” 

Mary complied with the request. Again her heart 
was burning with anger against these people who made 
her feel so small — and oh, so impotent! 

She shut the door and stood against it for a 
moment. The land of promise had crashed into 
ruins, and she was left in a desolate Sahara. The 


i6o 


CONFLICT 


passage throbbed and danced before her, a sick revul- 
sion against the whole household gripped her. 

“The house of sin ! The house of sin !” The letters 
seem to stare out of the shadows. In the hall below 
she could hear Rosalys’ rich voice, lazily talking to an 
unseen audience. She stepped to the baluster and 
looked down. 

Through the open door, green leaves waved : 
across the lawn the river sparkled, white in the blind- 
ing sunlight. Inside, all was cool and dreamful. On 
the divan Rosalys lay, her beautiful body thinly clad 
in a negligee of lawn and lace; the sleeves were open 
to her shoulders; her neck gleamed through the thin 
transparency ; her hair hung down in ruddy waves. 

The young actor lounged on the rug beside her, 
and in the window-seat sat Ferroll, bandying jest and 
laughter with them. The heat encircled them with 
happy languor. 

The girl drew back with a shiver. They would have 
gone with Susan. They would have encouraged her. 
There was a lack of moral stamina in the whole atmos- 
phere: and in it, Susan Ellestree had sunk till she 
reached the depths where she now lay, whence all her 
wisdom and dignity had fled. 

Behind the white door, what anguish reigned ! What 
anguish and abasement! 

Mary gained her room with quick, short steps. 
Her box was packed and labelled. She would tell 
them to send up for it from the station, and keep it 
till she wired directions. She had packed immediate 
necessaries in a bag, and, lifting it up, made her way 
down the back stairs. She could not bring herself to 
face the people in the hall. Her one thought was to 
get away. 

The sun blazed down on the high-road and the bag 
was heavy, but her step had renewed life. 

She had left the pleasure-garden. 

Every minute took her further from it : every minute 


CONFLICT 


161 


brought her nearer to the place which only she could 
fill. The battle no longer terrified her — her soul leapt 
towards it. To be up and doing — clean, and brave, 
and strong — out in the glare of the highway, out of 
the heavy-scented garden where the flowers languished 
for their captor — man. 


ii 


CHAPTER XIV 


“ My magistracy of myself is an indefeasible charge, and my 
decisions absolute for the time and case.” 

R. L. S., Lay Morals. 

“Yes, I have come back.” This indisputable state- 
ment was called forth by Mr. Humphry’s startled, yet 
reminiscent, stare. Amazement was not replaced but 
intensified by recognition. Mr. Humphry’s nicely- 
tabulated mind preserved an impression of a badly- 
dressed and awkward clerk whose hands twitched 
nervously, and who looked hysterical and anaemic. 
This self-possessed, perfectly appointed young woman 
was a revelation. 

He appreciated the poise she had acquired ; appre- 
ciated also the daintiness of her equipment. She was 
attractive to look at, and yet gave him a pleasant sen- 
sation of business-like capability. He shook hands 
with her warmly. 

“How much better vou are looking!” 

“Yes.” 

Mary seated herself at the table, pushed the papers 
away, and put her gloves upon it. Looking at her 
more closely, Mr. Humphry began to perceive a 
certain compressed resolution about the firm-lipped 
mouth which was not wholly pleasant. It puzzled 
him. 

“I’ve just come from the works. I went there to 
see Sanders.” 

“Oh! Then you’ve heard the great news?” 

162 


CONFLICT 


163 


‘'About the patent?” 

“Yes. A marvellous invention, isn’t it? It ought 
to revolutionise the tube trade. Of course we haven’t 
got it yet.” 

“We shall never have it.” 

“Oh, come, come, come! This isn’t like you, Miss 
van Heyten!” 

Mr. Humphry leaned back in his chair with a touch 
of reproach. The young woman opposite looked up 
astonished. 

“Not like me?” 

“You were braver when I saw you last. Ah, you’ve 
been out of the shafts and it’s naturally overwhelming 
when you first get back! But you mustn’t give up 
hope. Sanders has not been content with obtaining 
the option — he went out to Dalmatia to get it, too, 
as I expect you’ve heard — but he’s left no stone un- 
turned to insure Cuvier’s defeat. He tells me Cuvier’s 
are getting very hard pressed. There is every possi- 
bility that they will not be able to meet their obliga- 
tions, and as Sanders has induced Reich to give them 
no extension ” 

“I know all this. Mr. Sanders was very explicit.” 
The girl hesitated for a moment; something seemed 
to be preventing utterance. 

“Do you know how Sanders obtained the knowl- 
edge of this patent ?” 

Her eyes suddenly lifted, confronting the hard-faced 
man of business. 

“How? In the usual way!” 

“Not in the usual way of Berryfield’s !” 

Over Mr. Humphry’s visage an expression of frown- 
ing astonishment was spreading. Mary controlled 
herself. 

“Sanders obtained the information about the patent 
through bribing a foreman at Cuvier’s. The foreman 
was dismissed ; but he has been helping Sanders ; 
they have bribed other workmen there. That is 


164 


CONFLICT 


how they have learnt about the tests. Through brib- 
ery and corruption.” 

Mr. Humphry did not look pleasant. 

“Sanders knows his business : he has had to employ 
whatever methods lay to hand. In the present state 
of trade it is essential that this patent does not slip 
out of our hands.” 

“Even if we stoop to thieving it?” 

Mr. Humphry’s thin lips narrowed. He cast a 
cold and crushing glance at his interlocutor. Mary’s 
demeanour did not change. There she sat, a neat and 
youthful figure in her linen travelling suit, surmounted 
by a burnt-straw hat with its big black French bow. 
Her face was as colourless as usual, her manner as 
composed. 

Mr. Humphry pushed his chair back a foot, his 
rubicund countenance aglow with something akin to 
indignation. 

“That is an extraordinary remark to make to me.” 

“I don’t think so. You know Mr. Berryfield left 
his business to me, because he trusted me to keep up 
to his standard. I think he must be turning in his 
grave to think that Berryfield’s has sold its honour.” 

“You use strong words.” 

“What else is it?” 

“Business Is business.” 

“Cuvier’s found this patent; Cuvier’s have spent 
thousands testing it; we have not risked a penny 
except on the bribes we have given Cuvier’s men to 
betray their master’s secrets ; and yet you would 
sanction stepping in and stealing the patent which Mr. 
Cuvier has tested.” 

“You do not seem to consider that we have been 
acting solely in your interests.” 

“My interests can only be served by upholding the 
honour of the firm. That is the trust that has been 
left to me.” 

Mr. Humphry took off his spectacles and polished 


CONFLICT 


165 

them with minute care. An intimate acquaintance of 
Mr. Humphry would have recognised this as betok- 
ening the deepest shade of annoyance. 

‘‘Women always take responsibilities too sentiment- 
ally. You talk about a ‘trust’ and ‘honour’; well, of 
course that’s all very pretty, but this is an age of com- 
petition. If Berryfield’s is to prosper, Berryfield’s 
must fight.” 

“But fairly!” 

“Sanders has done nothing out of the ordinary. 
If you’ll take my advice you’ll leave things to him and 
me and go back to your aunt. Such things are not for 
women. You broke down before and you’ll break 
down again.” 

Mary’s face had not changed during the little hom- 
ily, neither had her purpose. 

“I am not going back. I am going to take this 
affair in hand.” 

Mr. Humphry’s forehead was cleft by an ugly 
vertical line. Mary’s voice had a ring of decision 
that did not meet his conception of the feminine 
temperament. 

“Do you mean to say you have not sufficient confi- 
dence in my judgment?” 

“It is not a question of personal sentiment. The 
responsibility for Berryfield’s prestige is mine. I do 
not consider the course Sanders is taking will reflect 
to my credit. I therefore stop that course of action.” 

The square chin had not belied its owner. Deliber- 
ately the words came forth, clear and sharp as the 
ring of a bullet. 

Mr. Humphry sat arrested, his amazed mouth 
opening and shutting impotently. Women, in Mr. 
Humphry’s mind, were creatures to be petted, reasoned 
with, directed. Here was a slip of a girl, who had not 
only taken the reins but showed a bewilderingly un- 
expected power of grip. 

“But as a business man ” Mary’s clear eyes 


CONFLICT 


1 66 

disconcerted him. He puffed his chest out angTily. 
“You cannot presume to pit your inexperience against 
my knowledge.” 

“I don’t pretend to any knowledge except the 
knowledge of Mr. Berryfield. He trusted to my 
judgment and left sole power to me. I must use that 
power.” 

“Of course you can do exactly as you like.” 

Mary bowed her head, accepting the smarting thrust 
in a composed and literal spirit. 

“Yes. So I came down. I did not think you 
knew.” 

Mr. Humphry deepened into purple. Mary had 
spoken with perfect simplicity; she saw the rising 
colour and felt a rush of compunction. 

“Oh, I know you thought it was all right. You 
didn’t realise what the position was. I know you 
didn’t, Mr. Humphry. It was only because you were 
watching my interests. You wouldn’t have dreamt 
of taking an unfair advantage of any one for your- 
self. Please don’t think I’m criticising you.” She had 
melted. Glowing, warm-hearted, the woman showed 
herself. She was sorry for Mr. Humphry, genuinely 
sorry that he had blundered into so ignoble a position. 
“Please don’t think I don’t appreciate your kindness. 
I shall never forget your sympathy that dreadful 
Saturday when you told me of the will, only you must 
see I couldn’t let this thing go on. Why, Cuvier’s are 
despising us. Oh, Mr. Humphry, you wouldn’t like 
your firm to be disrespected. You’re proud of the way 
in which every one looks up to it, and trusts it. Can’t 
you understand how I feel for Berryfield’s ?” 

Mr. Humphry cleared his throat. He was a busy 
man, and had not paid much heed to anything but the 
material affairs of Berryfield’s. Mary had put a new 
complexion on the matter. She saw his uncomfortable 
expression and hurried on. 

“It’s my fault to a great extent. The day that 


CONFLICT 


167 

Mr. Berryfield died Cuvier's sent some one down with 
letters they had found from Sanders. I promised he 
should be cautioned ; probably dismissed. Directly the 
messenger had left the office we heard of Mr. Berry- 
field’s death. Then I fell ill. When things did come 
back I was too tired to care. I have only just realised 
what the consequences may be.” 

“I see. I’m sorry. I’m a very busy man, and am 
afraid I left everything to Sanders. I naturally thought 
he had your entire trust. Now I understand. You 
wish to give up the option?” 

“Sanders has forestalled that. He informs me he 
has taken the option in his own name and formed a 
syndicate to purchase it. He has always hated me. 
Since he heard about the disposition of the property, 
he has been striving to feather his own nest.” 

“Sanders is purchasing! But this is infamous! 
Nothing could have been clearer than the fact that 
Sanders signed on our behalf.” 

“I have seen the paper. It is assigned to him.” 

“The man’s a common thief!” 

“Exactly. I had the pleasure of telling him so. I 
also told him that if it took our last penny, Cuvier’s 
should have that patent; and I want a statement as 
to how we stand with the bank. If Cuvier’s is in 
difficulties through Sanders, we must accept the 
responsibility. If the worst comes to the worst, I 
must be in a position, at a moment’s notice, to draw 
ten thousand pounds — you must see the bank — that 
is, I believe, the price that Mr. Cuvier must pay to 
complete purchase.” 

“I scarcely think that’s possible . The business is 
already hampered by the suicidal policy Sanders has 
been adopting. To draw such a sum would involve 
you in considerable difficulties.” 

“I cannot help that.” 

Mr. Humphry shut up the knife that he was playing 
with: he was again losing his temper. 


1 68 


CONFLICT 


“A plain, straightforward statement must put 
things right. You’ve had nothing to do with the 
affair.” 

“If Sanders gets the patent it will not put the 
matter right.” 

“You’ve nothing to do with Sanders.” 

“He’s acted in the name of Berryfield’s.” 

“He’s dismissed because of his behaviour. As long 
as you refuse to deal with him, no one can blame 
you : in fact most people would think your conduct 
quixotic ”• 

“In refusing to purchase stolen goods?” 

Mr. Humphry cleared his throat: his temper would 
not long withstand the strain. 

“It’s a difficult situation. Still I’m sure Mr. Cuvier 
will appreciate ” 

“He won’t believe a word of it !” 

“My dear Miss ” 

“I know him. He’ll never believe me. He 
despises women. If I tell him the truth about my 
illness and Sanders being left in charge, he’ll only 
think me a fool if not a trickster, and as for admitting 
I could help him, he’d die first! Yet I am Berryfield’s. 
Oh, for the honour of the firm we must stand right 
with this man ! Mr. Berryfield would have lost 
everything he had, rather than feel he owed apology 
to Cuvier’s.” 

“Mr. Berryfield’s personal antipathies were foolishly 
pronounced.” 

“That isn’t for me to judge. I must do what he’d 
do.” 

“I fail to see how he could remedy ” 

“We must see that Cuvier gets the patent if we pay 
for it.” 

“Absurd!” 

“Cuvier must have the patent.” 

“But do you imagine he’ll take the money from 
you?” 


CONFLICT 


169 


“No.” I 

“Then what on earth ” 

“I must be prepared for any contingency. I am 
going to London now; I also have a . . . source of 
information about Mr. Cuvier’s affairs. I think I can 
keep in touch. If the worst comes to the worst, I 
shall go to his office. Thank goodness he has no idea 
who I am : no one has up there.” 

“You’re going back, then?” 

“At once. I’ve left Raynor in charge at the works, 
he’s very steady, if a little slow. I can trust him to 
look after things for a fortnight.” 

“You have dismissed Sanders?” 

“Of course. I saw him off the place.” 

“You’ve got a nerve.” He was forced to grant the 
tribute, unwilling though his admiration was. 

Miss van Heyten glanced at him in rather pitiful 
surprise. She did not realise how young she looked. 
Responsibility had withered youth. She felt old — old 
as the dead Berryfield whose place she filled. 

“Perhaps I was scarcely accurate in saying I dis- 
missed him. On finding that there was no market 
for his thefts, Sanders did not evince a feverish anxiety 
to stay. I merely saw that he departed. I can rely 
on your seeing to that cheque? Of course, Cuvier’s 
may raise the money. It’s onlv that I want to be 
prepared for anything. I don’t like the way in which 
Sanders looked and spoke. He was too certain.” 

Mary’s eyes were dark with worry. She rose 
up, gazing straight in front of her. Mr. Humphry had 
been put out of the picture with unflattering complete- 
ness. He felt the unbecoming lack of feminine appeal. 
He stood by the door, holding it open with a not too 
pleasant expression on his face. 

“I am only here to obey your instruction. I see 
you do not want my approval or advice.” 

“No.” Mary put out her hand simply. “No one 


170 


CONFLICT 


only know one thing. Sanders is not going to get 
that patent.” 

Then Miss van Heyten passed out, leaving Mr. 
Humphrey with the knowledge that Miss van 
Heyten’s business was Miss van Heyten’s business 
only. 


CHAPTER XV 


“Where the apple reddens 
Never pry: 

Lest we lose our Edens.” 

Browning. 

There is nothing more cheerless than a shut-up flat. 

Mrs. Ellestree was conscious of a sense of depression 
as she entered. There were no plants or flowers, and 
the muslin-covered furniture formed ugly, shapeless 
bundles. A white diaper covered the carpet, and the 
moonbeams lay in a cold pool of light upon it. Dust 
was thick on the mantelpiece and tables. 

Cuvier experienced a similar irritation as he followed 
her. The little dinner had been so charming that 
both were still inclined to talk, but he had vaguely 
anticipated cosiness and comfort. The bare, deserted 
room killed sentiment. 

Susan Ellestree had no consciousness of imprudence 
in inviting Cuvier to accompany her. She was care- 
less of convention. Her only thought was one of 
annoyance at the forlorn aspect of her sitting-room. 
She threw off her wrap and looked round for a chair ; 
her face bore a look of restless eagerness that was not 
wholly happy. It was as if Mrs. Ellestree were ranged 
against some hidden power, and was cognisant of 
defeat. The power was not Cuvier. She was accept- 
ing him in defiance of the secret restraint. 

Cuvier was puzzled still. Though Mrs. Ellestree 
had hurried up to town obedient to his bidding, 
though she had sat through dinner, listening to his 
careless love-making and shining eyes and flushed 
171 


172 


CONFLICT 


cheeks, to-night he did not feel that she would sur- 
render. Something eluded him, something that cried 
out to the brute in him to capture. 

Cuvier felt no reverence for the woman who 
responded to his sleepy dominance with such ap- 
preciation of his power, yet Mrs. Ellestree did not 
invite caresses. Her face was dimmed with trouble. 

Cuvier’s brows knitted. He respected being mis- 
taken in his judgment, especially of a woman. To- 
night he was determined to test this woman’s strength. 
That she loved him he was certain. 

“I’m sorry the flat’s so dirty. London is terrible 
after the country, isn’t it? I can’t even offer you 
a drink. I don’t believe there’s anything in the 
flat.” 

“It doesn’t matter, thanks. I’m with you; that’s 
the main thing!” 

“You’re very gallant!” Mrs. Ellestree spoke rather 
hurriedly. Her smile was constrained ; and the worried 
look stayed in her eyes. 

“You like honesty.” Cuvier approached her and 
leant against the piano; his elbow smudged the dust. 

“Oh, it’s so dirty ! Don’t lean on it !” 

Cuvier examined his coat indifferently, then looked 
down on her. 

“May I come here?” He sat, turning side ways so 
that he could watch her closely. One hand went out 
and touched the fan she held. 

“How much more time must we waste before I can 
tell you all the things I want to say?” 

“You haven’t wasted very much, have you?” Mrs. 
Ellestree spoke with humour. Cuvier lessened the 
distance between them; his hand grasped hers. 

“When are you going to give in?” 

He was surprised at the answer. Susan Ellestree 
caught her breath in a sigh that was almost a sob; 
her hand burnt in his. He felt her tremble. There 
is always a psychological moment when a man knows 


CONFLICT 


173 

he may kiss a woman. Cuvier’s doubts departed. In 
another moment his arm encircled her. 

“Answer.” 

“What is there to answer? You know I love you.” 

Susan’s voice was shaking; she leant her face 
against Cuvier’s shoulder with pathetic trust, and yet 
feverishly, as if she had determined to find harbourage, 
even though she doubted in her heart of hearts. He 
tightened his grip, till it seemed as if a steel band 
pressed round her. 

Susan closed her eyes. Mary’s words still floated 
in her memory, but she fought them down. She loved 
Cuvier as one loves the impossible heroes of one’s 
girlhood. His imperturbable indifference, his keen 
brain, his brutally impersonal mastery subdued her 
fancy. She had longed to be roughly conquered, and 
this man had won her with his casual insolence. Yet 
while she joyed in his caresses, something tugged at 
conscience. Doubt hung nebulous in the background, 
doubt of his sincerity. Did he love her as she loved 
him? Was it serious to him. No word or act of his 
gave hope of this. 

“What does your love mean?” Cuvier’s voice came 
in a whisper. 

She raised her beautiful face in passionate frank- 
ness. When a woman like Susan Ellestree loved, she 
used no weapons of dissimulation ; she gave in in superb 
surrender. She could not lie even to save her pride. 

“The usual meaning. I’m only happy when I’m 
with you. My life has only you in it.” 

Before Cuvier realised what she was doing, she 
released herself and stood with her back towards 
him, hiding her tears; then walked across the room, 
and stood fingering an ornament. Emotion shook her. 
She hated him to see her break down, hated the foolish 
tears, strove desperately for self-possession. 

“Why, what’s the matter.” 

“Oh, nothing.” Mrs. Ellestree still kept her back 


174 


CONFLICT 


studiously towards him. “I was only thinking how 
strange things are. Here I’ve longed for love, longed 
to meet some one like you whom I could look up to 
and who was stronger than myself. You don’t know 
how I’ve w r anted some one in my life who could teach 
me and help me. Now you’ve come. I may be 
wrong, but you seem the person I’ve been longing 
for: You say you love me too. Well, it seems as 
thought we might have been of such help to each 
other . . . and yet . . .” She shrugged her shoulders, 
her voice had broken dangerously. 

“But we’re going to be a great deal to each 
other.” 

“What?” Mrs. Ellestree turned, her eyes looking 
at him in contemptuous impatience of pretence. “We 
shall meet, drive home together, sometimes you’ll 
call on me. We shall talk . . . about each other. 
We shall miss each other . . . and that’s all. I can’t 
share your home and work. I can’t become part of 
your life. It’s the every-day things that bind people 
together.” 

Cuvier was silent. He had not the faintest inten- 
tion of taking Susan Ellestree into his home. He 
abhorred the idea of marriage. Marriage on top of a 
divorce would be unspeakable. Women were for 
relaxation outside his eyrie. The life of casual 
meeting that Susan had described fulfilled all his 
wishes. 

“Oh don’t let’s bother about the future. Anything 
might happen. In the meantime, take things as they 
are and enjoy them. Don’t waste time, for instance, 
now.” 

He held out his hand, speaking tenderly, but with 
a carelessness that the woman felt. She did not 
respond to the easy invitation this time. Instead, 
she sat down deliberately in the chair beside the 
window; her hands clasped the sides, judicially; her 
mien was hard. 


CONFLICT 


175 


'‘Do you think it’s waste of time to stop and look 
where one’s going, when one’s walking to a precipice? 
We’re not boy and girl. I know quite well where this 
may end. Perhaps men don’t understand what a gulf 
lies between what you call a good woman and . . . 
well, never mind. Only if I give in to the joy of 
loving you, I can never go back. I want to see where 
I’m going.” 

“No one need know.” 

“I shall!” Mrs. Ellestree laughed a little. “Rosalys 
looks up to me. I’m kind to her. Now people will 
be kind to me, broad-minded people ; the moral 
ones ...” 

“Moral people will never approve of you.” Cuvier’s 
disdain for Susan’s judges robbed the comment of 
impertinence. 

“It doesn’t matter if they do or not while I know 
they’re unjust. But if ... if you and I . . . well, 
there are some people I couldn’t see again.” Mary’s 
terror was fresh in Susan’s mind. 

“What if you don’t see them? You’ll have 
me. You’ll make me angry with these . . . other 
people.” 

Cuvier rose and came slowly toward her. 

“I’ll make you forget.” 

“Oh, how much do you love me?” The eyes that 
met his were passionate in their despair. Cuvier 
dropped on one knee before the chair. 

“I’ll show you.” 

“N — no — no.” Mrs. Ellestree drew back from 
his mastering hand. “We must talk things over 
sensibly, quite sensibly; you know, I’ve a husband 
who’s not very fond of me, but he’s jealous. If he 
found out, he’d divorce me without hesitating. I must 
face that. Then ?” 

“Don’t analyse and worry. Don’t you know men 
hate to think of the future? It will solve itself. 
I won’t let you think. You shan’t think. You shall 


CONFLICT 


176 

give me what I want.” He was about to catch her 
in his arms ; desire burnt in his eyes ; the brutality 
in his face was terribly emphasised. 

Mrs. Ellestree pushed back her chair with a sud- 
denness that left him unprepared. 

“I’ve spoken of my future. You don’t think that’s 
important. I’ve spoken of my self-respect. It’s 
nothing to you if I lose it. You are asking for my soul 
to give you a little casual pleasure. Do you know, I 
don’t think it’s worth it !” 

Some women look beautiful in rage ; Susan 
Ellestree was one of them. As a goddess, risen 
from her throne, she stood defiant. Cuvier was 
dumbfounded. Was this the secret of the puzzle? 
Was Susan Ellestree a woman to be knelt to after 
all? Was her pride deeper than her vanity, stronger 
even than her love? For a moment the nobler part 
of the man felt contemptible. Then brutality sprang 
up within him. She defied him ; put him on one side, 
held her pride around her and forbade his entrance, 
even though she yearned for him. Her pride against 
his determination! 

Most men would have sought to wake her passion 
with protestations of their love, to have flooded reason 
with a tide of physical emotion. Cuvier deliberately 
laid aside his weapon of attraction. Susan’s mind 
refused him victory; her reason must be fought with 
and subdued. 

His mouth narrowed ; he spoke with more than usual 
coolness. 

“I’m not going to make promises. Marriage is out 
of the question.” 

“Then when you made love to me, you meant 
nothing ?” 

“I meant what I said. You attract me; not so 
much at this moment as you did before, but still 
considerably. If you knew in what a quandary I 
stand at present, you would appreciate what an im- 


CONFLICT 


1 77 


pression you've made for me to pay any attention to 
you. Women don’t come far inside my life, as a rule: 
never, when it’s as full as it is now with vital matters. 
That you are in it is extraordinary. But as to pre- 
tending you usurp my whole thoughts — even the 
greater part of them — that would be absurd." 

"You are very truthful." 

"That is another compliment." 

A faint smile twisted Cuvier’s lips. His imperturb- 
ability had a calming effect on Susan. She sat down 
with an attempt at equal self-control?” 

"Then what are you offering me?" 

He leant against the window, looking down on her 
with a smile which was cruel in its confidence of her 
surrender. He would make no terms. He knew the 
power he exercised. 

"My love, such as it is. My undivided love. I 
should like to preserve its romance as long as possible. 
That is why I should advocate an amitie amoureuse, 
rather than the publicity of an open liaison, with 
possibly the after-dregs of a forced marriage. I may 
tell you, the mere idea of marriage is an abomination 
to me ; always has been. Under the most favorable 
conditions, I should loathe any woman inflicted on me 
as a wife." 

Mrs. Ellestree’s breath came rather quickly. Her 
statuesque face was moved to unwonted feeling. 
Cuvier watched her with narrow eyes. He enjoyed 
her anger. He lowered his voice caressingly, watch- 
ing her bosom heave, her colour flushing under the 
merciless battery. 

"I thought you were above the usual conventions! 
I can offer you nothing except my love. If you were 
the ordinary domestic woman, I should not have 
shown my feeling for you. But I have thought of 
you as an equal. You are so strong, so philosophic. 
You would do what other women would not dare to 
do. I lay down my hand. Take it or leave it." 

12 


CONFLICT 


.178 

“For our pleasure. That’s all it means. I’m a 
recreation for you, only that?” 

Cuvier shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly, ac- 
quiescing in his silence. 

“I would work for you, think with you, take care 
of you, live for you. And you only want my kisses.” 

“My dear woman, you have an idle life with nothing 
in it ; I have a life devoted to a purpose. You must 
see we can’t hold relatively the same places.” 

Mrs. Ellestree regarded the moonlight steadily. 
Cuvier moved nearer. 

“Come, give yourself. You want to, and I want 
you. Our relations only concern ourselves ; if we 
want each other, why deny our need ? Come to me. 
Just come. This cursed intelligence and pride of 
yours stand in our way like sentinels. I can’t love 
when I’m watched.” 

Suddenly his arms closed round her : his kisses 
burnt her lips, heavy, overmastering. She had only 
strength to turn her face away, burying it against the 
chairback in self-protection. 

“Not love!” 

The cry was breathed into the cushions. His hands 
were still upon her shoulders. She shuddered under- 
neath his touch, wincing from him till his grasp gave 
way and she was free to realise — terribly to realise. 

Flowers to be plucked, and then thrown away. She 
was worth more than that. 

Even though her whole soul cried out to surrender, 
she would not, knowing what surrender meant. She 
called to the past to help her in the struggle between 
her womanhood and her soul. For she loved him, 
her being thrilled with fierce joy to hear the brutal 
words. Here was no slave pleading, promising, but 
a giant mastering her ... No. Odd memories came 
to her. The quiet skies, the young girl kneeling by 
her in the shadowy room, while she had felt the 
youthful worship hushing her discontent to a divine 


CONFLICT 


179 


acceptance. She was good then: she was strong: 
she had the right to lean down from a golden throne, 
comforting and raising . . . And it was all only a 
battle to him ! A conflict ! His will against hers ! 
That was the terrible part. He only wanted to win. 
Afterwards . . . 

Reason conquered, even though desire flamed 
through her being. Her pride rose up, hard, pro- 
tective. She had offered him her life’s devotion, and 
he wanted little more from her than from a woman of 
the streets. 

She raised her head; in that hour she had passed 
through the greatest bitterness life can hold for woman. 
Never again would Susan Ellestree feel confidence in 
her personality. Put to the crucial test her power 
had failed, ignobly, wholly. The man she loved had 
wanted her . . . and had appraised her at how slight 
a value. 

The tears were still in her eyes, but her gaze was 
steady. 

“We do not mean the same by love,” she answered. 
“The love I have to give is not the love you want 
from me: I can’t give you my kisses without giving 
you my soul. You would find that a nuisance . . . 
you think of me so meanly . . . I’m worth more than 
that ... I’m longing to give you all, you don’t know 
how I’m longing . . . but my pride keeps me, thank 
God ! Thank God !” 

She met his eyes, looking at her with an expression 
that almost held acquiescence. She turned away, sick 
with the hopeless pain of it. He cared . . . but he only 
cared so far . . . and nothing she could do would bring 
him an inch farther. She knew this. Yet she longed 
for him, longed pitifully, desperately, with a passion 
that had almost passed beyond control. Her pride, 
her reason, her every sane and healthy instinct cried 
out to her to send away this man who wanted her 
kisses, but not her companionship; who would give 


i8o 


CONFLICT 


her the material things which she might ask of him, 
but who would give her nothing of his soul or man- 
hood. This man who deliberately proposed to take 
her as his mistress, and as deliberately refused her 
marriage. 

Yet it was his strength, his absolute self-control, 
his wide ambitions that drew her out of her egotism 
and worldly wisdom, and thrilled her soul with devotion 
and respect. He was absolutely independent of her. 
He did not need her. He counted her a trivial 
issue in his life. How she worshipped his cold 
power ! 

Anguish racked her: she sat down helplessly, turn- 
ing her face toward the cushions, too wretched to 
move or weep. 

Cuvier watched the conflict dispassionately, yet 
with a cynical pity. At least, she was making a fight 
for it. Yet he knew the struggle was an unmatched 
one. He read the triumph of her body. There was 
no real revulsion of her soul. Her pride held her: 
but she had told him that it held her ! How she had 
confessed ! 

Yet she had struggled! In some measure she had 
felt the indignity he offered. The knowledge of this 
softened his feeling toward her. He sat down by her 
quietly. For the moment desire had subsided. The 
pathos of her weakness struck on his perception. 

“Yes, you are worth more than most women/’ he 
said, “I believe I ought to leave you.” 

He saw a shudder tremble through her body. He 
put his hand on hers lightly, holding it almost sadly. 

“Only the worst of it is, you don’t want me to leave 
you, do vou?” 

“Oh, I don’t know!’ The woman did not withdraw 
her hand from his. Her head was turned from him: 
her grasp tightened . . . feverishly. “I wish ... I 
wish . . . you’d lied!” 

“Ha!” Cuvier released his grip almost roughly, 


CONFLICT 181 

then stood looking down on her. His mouth curled 
narrow as a whip-lash. 

“You’re all the same at heart,” said he. “’Pon my 
soul, it’s only a question of your pride, as you call it, 
the pride that wants to assume the virtue that you 
have not: and the cowardice that makes you afraid 
to face discovery. It isn’t the kisses that repel you : 
it’s the consequences. Oh you good women . . . you 
good women ...” 

He was going. 

Susan Ellestree lifted her head: saw that he was 
going. 

“Would you have had me come when you have set 
no value on me?” 

“If I would have you, you would come,” said 
Cuvier. His eyes met hers. She grew white as the 
foolish muslin cushions against which her shoulders 
rested. 

“I would not ... I would not.” 

“Wouldn’t you? Very well then. Stay with your 
pride and see how that satisfies.” 

“You have not won.” 

“Won ! If I wanted to win, do you think I 
shouldn’t take you? No. I’m leaving you for the 
sake of . . . call it a sentiment . . . But if I want 
you, I know that I can have you. I’ve tested your 
morality.” 

“I would never come.” 

“Yes ... if I needed you.” 

Cuvier’s gaze met hers, almost with a smile. A 
smile that had the tenderness of a caress : that thrilled 
her and yet stung her to the quick. 

The door closed behind him. 

For some moments after he had left, the woman 
sat still listening breathlessly. Then as his foot- 
steps died away, a sudden revulsion seized her. 
Her eyes wandered round the room, sick at its 
desolation. 


CONFLICT 


182 

Why had she been so foolish? Why had she been 
so mad as to send him from her ? 

It was easy to be brave while he was there; it was 
not easy when she was left in blank despair. She 
had spoken truly when she had said life held nothing 
but him. What had she now? What prospect to look 
forward to? 

To go back to Rosalys and the river where every 
ripple sang his name? To remember there how lightly 
he had left her, when business put forth a beckoning 
finger ? 

To go elsewhere, where he was not, where he had 
never been? 

To stay in London alone in the cheerless flat, search- 
ing the pavements for a sight of his figure? 

Heartburning and loneliness whichever way she 
turned, with only the consciousness of being stronger 
than the other women . . . who were happy. 

Oh, she was helpless — helpless before this tide of 
anguish. 


CHAPTER XVI 


“ Much is to learn, much to forget 
Ere the time be come for taking you.” 

R. Browning. 

The public writing-room of a temperance hotel is 
not conducive to epistolary activity. It was exactly 
an hour since Mary had sat down before the fly- 
blown ink-bottle and weary-looking blotter ; and 
her endeavours had produced nothing more than the 
filling of a waste-paper basket with scribbled half- 
sheets. 

A very poor performance, and Miss van Pleyten 
was conscious of the fact; yet how is one to frame a 
note to a chance acquaintance for no more apparent 
reason than a desire for his company. 

Mr. Cobb had asked her to let him know when she 
was next in town, but Mary was uncomfortably certain 
that he would not expect a reminder two days after. 

She pushed the blotter from her in disgust and sat 
looking out in miserable indecision. It had been easy 
to be resolute in Mr. Humphry's office; her relations 
with him were merely business ones. 

But with Hayden Cobb . . . her heart beat with 
curious quickness at the recollection of his reserve. 
She would have given anything not to have made the 
first advance. It seemed so like an advance. To 
oflfer to come and see him? To ask him to come and 
see her? There were only two alternatives. 

The clock upon the mantelpiece struck twelve, 
183 


CONFLICT 


184 

Mary awoke to horrified perception that she had 
wasted the whole morning. She pulled the paper to- 
wards her in despair and scribbled a hasty line — 

“Dear Mr. Cobb, 

“I am in London. If you have any time to 
spare this afternoon will you let me know? 

“Mary van Heyten.” 

She dispatched it by an express messenger — another 
sting. Berryfield’s was exacting many sacrifices. 

Cobb’s answer was to the point and prompt. An 
hour after the dispatching of the missive, Mary, still 
in the forsaken lounge, was roused to crimson con- 
sciousness by his appearance. 

“I was just going out to lunch when your note 
came, so it occurred to me there might be a chance 
of catching you. It’s so good of you to have remem- 
bered me.” 

Good of her? A twinge of remorse pricked Miss 
van Heyten’s conscience. Cobb’s pleasure was 
evident. 

“I thought perhaps you’d let me take you out to 
lunch. What about Gatti’s?” 

“I don’t mind where.” 

Mary caught at the proposition. It would be 
easier to lead up to her subject in the companionship 
engendered by a meal. 

It was not so easy as she had imagined, however. 
When the first flush of pleasure at the meeting had 
subsided, Mary felt a restraint in Cobb’s manner. 
The shy glance she stole at him showed a face 
that was tense and haggard beneath the friendly 
mask. Though he had been most certainly glad to 
see her, his attention was not centered on their 
meeting. 

As they sat down at the little table, with a strange 
sinking at her heart, Mary realised the difference 


CONFLICT 


185 

in his manner on the day when they had tea together. 
Then she was the sole object of his thoughts: now, 
he was as kind, but it was an effort. 

She was so miserably conscious of the fact that 
she let the laboured conversation lapse and sat silent, 
her eyes upon the table-cloth, wishing with all her 
heart that she had not written to him. Cobb had not 
spoken for the last five minutes. His brow was 
furrowed, his whole bearing showed signs of an intense 
dejection. 

“I’m so sorry !” Cobb’s voice broke the silence 
suddenly. "‘What a rotten time I’m giving you! Do 
forgive me. Just for the moment I ... I had for- 
gotten you were here. The fact is, I had rather a 
knock-down blow this morning and it’s left me kind 
of stupid. What were we talking about?” 

“I don’t know.” Mary had lifted her eyes in acute 
realisation of the purport of his words. A knock- 
down blow ! That might have reference to the 
patent ! 

Cobb was speaking hurriedly. 

“I ought not to have told you. It was pretty 
weak of me to worry you with my affairs. Well 
let’s forget it. Tell me what you’ve been doing with 
yourself. D’you know I came down to your place 
two nights ago. I was only there a few minutes or 
I should have hunted you out. It seemed an awfully 
pretty house.” 

The conversation was going away from the all- 
important subject. Mary launched her contribution 
desperately. 

“I knew you had come for Mr. Cuvier ; had the bad 
news anything to do with that?” 

“We’re not going to let the bad news trouble us.” 
Cobb smiled across at her very creditably. The old 
look was returning to his eyes. “What were you doing 
that night?” 

“I don’t know. What does it matter? That is, I 


CONFLICT 


1 86 

was sitting in the boat-house. I heard something you 
were saying . . . about a patent ...” 

Mary’s gaze turned desperately on Cobb; her lips 
were white. 

“You heard us!” 

Another expression had glanced across his face; 
one that went as quickly as it came, yet one which 
Mary recognised. So had he looked that grey March 
afternoon when he had lain Sanders’ letters on the 
table — and watched her. 

“A word or two.” She could say nothing more ; 
the humiliation of his suspicion was too much to 
bear. 

The young man may have seen this ; his face took 
on a queer grave look, and his voice softened as if he 
were speaking to a child. 

“About your old firm? I’m sorry that you heard 
me. I would have liked you to have known nothing 
about it. Well, it’s true they have been playing us 
fairly shabby tricks, and I believe they’ve just 
attempted a shabbier one than they have yet accom- 
plished, one which, unfortunately, seems as if it will 
come ofif. But that has nothing to do with us. We 
began our acquaintance . . .” 

“At Berryfield’s !” 

“No, we didn’t. We began it when I found you in 
Piccadilly. That’s where we start from; and that’s 
where I want to go on from. I don’t mean business 
to come into this.” 

“But you said yourself we’re both business people. 
It seems only natural we should talk to each other 
about . . .” 

“Each other’s firms? No. That’s just what we’re 
not going to do. You naturally feel loyalty to Berry- 
field’s ; and I stand for Cuvier’s. I’m not going to dis- 
cuss anything about those firms’ relationships. You’ve 
left Berryfield’s, and business.” 

“If we are friends, we trust each other, don’t we?” 


CONFLICT 


187 


'‘Of course!” 

The smile that was bestowed upon her was reassur- 
ing- 

“Then why can’t we . . . talk about business?” 

“Because when a man likes a girl he doesn’t want 
to talk shop to her.” 

“Suppose she wants to talk shop to him?” 

“He won’t let her.” 

The smile was deepening. 

“Not even if ... if he were in some big trouble?” 

Mary’s voice quivered; she raised her eyes in dumb 
entreaty. He must tell her. 

Not being versed in mental telepathy, Hayden 
Cobb only saw the passionately pleading look. He 
was not more conceited than the ordinary run of 
men ; but the most modest of individuals could not 
have failed to have perceived a more than usual 
interest in Mary’s manner. We have said that Hay- 
den Cobb’s life had not been rich in human ties ; this 
freedom from emotionalism had left his nature very 
simple. 

He admired and liked this proud and reserved girl; 
her sudden show of feeling touched him. He was 
not only flattered by it; he felt gratitude, a queer 
unaccountable gratitude which made it, for the 
moment, difficult to speak. One of the greatest 
troubles of his life had come to him, he was still 
aching with the pain of it. He did not mind Mary 
knowing. He had felt sympathy with her the moment 
he had seen her. They looked at things in the same 
way; understood each other. For the first time in 
his life Hayden Cobb longed for human companion- 
ship. Fie never talked of his affairs, because it never 
dawned on him that people could be interested. But 
Mary was. She cared. 

And he had rebuffed her stupidly, insensately ! 
She was right. If they were to be friends, they must 
share each other’s confidence. 


1 88 


CONFLICT 


He had no way of repaying her than by telling her. 
No harm could come to Cuvier’s now, if all the world 
knew. So simply and honestly he laid down his 
secret. 

“There’s nothing much to tell you. Only we hoped 
for great things from a patent; and the last test has 
failed.” 

“Failed!” 

It was so new a development that Mary could only 
sit still, speechless. 

Hayden Cobb saw her bewilderment; he smiled a 
little unsteadily. Of course she could not understand 
the magnitude of the disappointment. He had been 
foolish to confide at all, as he could give but a half- 
confidence. The secret of the failure of the test might 
be public property ; but the secret of Cuvier’s liabilities, 
of the vast sums thrown away on the tests which had 
ended so disastrously, could be told to no one. 

He tried to infuse more cheerfulness into his 
tone. 

“Yes. It doesn’t sound much, does it? Still 
it has hit us pretty hard. We’ve been foolishly 
optimistic I suppose; we had staked a good deal, and 
were so certain. The money was waiting in the bank 
to purchase. It seemed in our hand.” 

“It’s ghastly . . . ghastly . . .” 

Mary’s cheeks were blanched; then an overwhelm- 
ing tide of pity rushed across her. She could under- 
stand all that it meant! To see monopoly in one’s 
reach, and find the diamond a worthless stone. She 
stretched her hand out with a quick impulse ; the boy’s 
grasp met hers. 

“I’m sorry. I do understand. Oh, I’m so sorry . . . 
for you. Just you !” 

Only the woman spoke ; woman and comrade both : 
comrade who had felt the frenzied struggle, and knew 
the joy of triumph and the anguish of defeat. Frankly 
and tenderly, her heart went out to him in divine 


CONFLICT 189 

compassion that, because she was a woman, longed to 
comfort with her actual touch. 

The barriers were breaking fast; this was only the 
third time these young people had seen each other, 
and yet they turned to one another as naturally as a 
flower to the sun, as willows to the river, as children 
to a mother — great Mother Nature who had made 
them strong and self-reliant, and sent that divine un- 
rest through their bodies. 

Gatti’s is not an ideal place for sentiment. Mary 
withdrew her hand as quickly as she had outstretched 
it; she could not withdraw the action however; nor, 
I doubt would she have done so had it been possible. 
The thanks in the boy’s eyes had awakened the self in 
her which had worshipped Susan Ellestree. Half child, 
half mother, she looked up to Cobb, and yet yearned 
to take care of him. 

“That’s good of you. It’s funny, but it helps. I 
didn’t think anything could have helped.” 

“Just my being sorry?” 

“It’s a pretty big thing to me. D’you know, I don’t 
believe I’ve anybody in the world to feel sorry about 
anything that happens to me. Not that I want any 
one, but it’s odd, when one comes to think of it.” 

“Haven’t you any people ?” 

“No. I was brought up by my mother’s sister. 
My mother died when I was little, my father too, 
which is why I’m at Cuvier’s. He’d always meant 
me to be in the Service, in his regiment he hoped. 
But when he died . . . well, there was no one to 
care about what happened to me; and as he hadn’t 
left enough for Sandhurst, and ... I say, does this 
bore you?” 

“Bore me? No; please tell me.” 

“I’d like to.” Cobb spoke simply. “Because you 
must think me awfully rude sometimes. I don’t 
mean to shut up, but I can’t help it. I’ve never been 
used to talking to people. My father died when I 


190 


CONFLICT 


was twelve; we had been great chums. I wonder 
if you’ve ever heard of him — Major Cobb? He died 
in action — some day I’ll tell you. He got the V. C. for 
it ; they sent it to me.” 

“And hadn’t you any one?” 

“This aunt. I didn’t like her.” A hard look came 
into his face. “She was very keen on things I 
thought rotten; money, and so on. And she was 
always complaining of how much I cost her. So I 
ran away from school — I was at Winchester — and 
became a clerk at Cuvier’s.” 

“Clerk !” 

“It was the only thing that I could think of. You 
see, I wanted to earn money so that I could pay back 
every shilling she’d spent on me; that was why I 
stood it for two years without her finding me. I had 
to live on fifteen shillings a week at first. It was a bit 
of a struggle till I began to be useful and Mr. Cuvier 
noticed me; and one night he met my aunt at dinner 
and happened — Heaven knows why or how — to speak 
of me. Then it all came out. He didn’t go back on 
me. He . . . took my side. He offered to send me 
to Sandhurst, but I was too old, and I’d forgotten 
all the school part. Then he wanted me to go to 
Oxford, but I wouldn’t. I preferred to stop with 
him. And since then he’s been more decent than I 
can describe. You see now why I hate Berryfield’s 
or any one who has injured him. I say, I have 
talked.” 

He bit his lips, half ashamed, half helpless. 

The tears were shining in Mary’s eyes. She was 
thinking of another life; Ferroll who cried and 
snatched; this man had suffered, and endured. 

“Oh, I say, you mustn’t. How rotten of me! I’ve 
done nothing but depress you since I came.” 

“No, you haven’t.” Mary forced a smile. 

“Haven’t I? I can’t tell you what you’ve meant 
to me. Nothing matters so much now. I say, that’s 


CONFLICT 191 

pretty caddish of me. Yes, it does matter. Anything 
that touches Mr. Cuvier matters.” 

“I know it does !” 

Generously the words flashed back to him. The boy 
coloured; her appreciation was so patent. 

“Look here. I told you all that so that you 
could understand why I’m a bit old-fashioned. You 
see I think about my father a good deal. Not having 
had much chance of making friends, he’s seemed to 
stay with me; and he loved old-fashioned women. 
When I met you I ... I wondered what he’d think. 
That’s why I was so glad when you said you’d given 
up business and gone to stay with your aunt. That’s 
why I hate discussing business with you. My father 
loved women to be women.” 

Mary had risen ; she stood with one hand on the 
table, leaning on it. Her eyes were desperate. 

“You’re under a wrong impression; I’ve not given 
up business; I shall always work.” 

“Not if some one worked for you, and there was no 
need ?” 

Cobb had risen too. 

Mary’s eyes met his straightly; in his was an 
overwhelming tenderness; in hers, unalterable renun- 
ciation. 

“Always,” she repeated. “All my life. I’ve under- 
taken something.” 

“But . . . but you’d give it up ?” 

Mary straightened herself; her voice was steady. 

“If you had undertaken a responsibility for Mr. 
Cuvier, would you let anything stop you from fulfilling 
it, even if you cared for some one? Even if . . . you 
knew that person could never care for you if you ful- 
filled that trust ?” 

“Men are different from women !” 

A flash of something mastering, almost of brutality, 
had come into the man’s eyes. There are moments 
when all men are primitive. 


CONFLICT 


192 

Her male ancestors bad left a heritage with Mary 
also. The light that shone in her eyes was as fierce 
as in his own. 

“They share a sense of honour.” 

“Not the same sense.” 

It was the simplest repartee, born of sheer anger at 
the indomitable spirit which refused to yield; yet its 
effect was startling. 

“You will see.” 

With uplifted chin the girl had turned from him. 
She was going. 

“But you mustn’t go like that. Here, never mind 
the change!” He had tossed a sovereign to the 
astonished waiter and was following at her heels. 
“Don’t be so silly. I was only chaffing you. At 
least, half-chaffing. We can’t quarrel now ! I’m not 
going to have you quarrel.” 

Hayden Cobb occasionally bore a strong resem- 
blance to his father. With shoulders back, head erect, 
and eyes confronting her, he barred the road- 
way. 

“Let me go.” 

“Not till you’ve made friends. Why, it’s absurd. 
What are we quarrelling about?” 

“You said I was dishonourable.” 

“How perfectly ridiculous ! You know I said noth- 
ing of the sort. Stop, cabby !” A hansom loitering by, 
stopped at the kerbway. 

“We can’t talk here. Come, jump in. Don’t make 
a scene. You’ll have to go home somehow. I swear 
I’ll get out at Chancery Lane. I shall have to, as a 
matter of fact.” 

Cobb’s hand grasped her elbow. Mary found her- 
self put into the hansom without a chance of escape. 
“Now then !” 

The door was shut. His hand had closed on 
hers. 

Mary controlled herself with a big effort. 


CONFLICT 


193 

“I can’t alter myself. I’ve had to earn my living 
and Tam glad of it. I believe in work.” 

‘‘There are all kinds of work.” 

“I believe in work that teaches courage, self-reliance, 
independence, then.” 

The rebel was not tamed. Perhaps that was why 
it was necessary for Cobb to tighten his hold of the 
rebel’s hand. 

“I believe in everything that has made you what 
you are.” 

“But not in my capability to talk of business.” 

“Oh, bother business ! Why don’t you let me for- 
get it ? I was beginning to.” 

The boy’s face hardened. Suddenly a thought 
sprang into the girl’s mind. 

What . . . what if . . . Sanders had tampered 
with the final test? 

She spoke quickly. 

“You say that Mr. Cuvier could have found the 
money for the patent if the test had been successful.” 

“Of course . . . but . . 

“It is!” 

She was breathless. Instinct had told her. She 
knew as certainly as she sat there, that Sanders would 
close with the inventor on the morrow. 

“Is what? Oh, do leave this wretched subject.” 

“But I’ve an idea, I might be able to help you. San- 
ders has queered that test !” 

“Do you think I’d take help from you? Even if 
you could give it ?” 

The boy’s grasp had relaxed. Mary’s breath came 
shortly. 

“Not take help.” 

“Listen, I know you mean well, but you must under- 
stand that men can’t stand women mixing up in their 
affairs, you jump to a wild conclusion for which you’ve 
no proof . . . have you?” 

“No. But I feel it. Sanders is a rogue.” 


194 


CONFLICT 


“Please don’t. It’s no good, really.” 

“No!” Mary’s voice had an odd inflection. She 
withdrew her hand. “Here’s Chancery Lane.” 

Cobb put his hand through the door in acquiescence ; 
then took hers and held it an instant. 

“Something seems to have happened that’s made 
everything unsettled and unsatisfactory. May I 
write ?” 

“It’s no use.” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“Just that. It’s no use. I haven’t the time to think 
about you. Go on, cabby.” 

Hayden Cobb stood on the pavement and watched 
the hansom driving down the Strand ; he felt the same 
stupefied sensation he had experienced when he had 
heard of the failure of the patent. 


CHAPTER XVII 


“Oh, this love, this love, 

Of this love I’m weary!” 

Jess Macfarlane. 

Love is a ravaging flame when it meets the tinder 
of idleness. In the short time since Mrs. Ellestree 
had come up to town its marks had shown. She had 
remained at the flat. Restlessness consumed her, a 
devouring, miserable fever, fretting the more because 
of the hopelessness which engulfed her. 

Cuvier had not been near since the night on which 
they had dined together. He had said he should be 
busy. Susan made excuses to herself, but with a sink- 
ing heart. She knew well enough that men find time 
to see the women whom they love. 

Nothing is more terrible than the ease with which 
man courts any pretty woman chance throws across 
his path, unless it be the ease with which he puts her 
from his life again. Now business had rushed in with 
its insisting cares, and the idle hours of passion were 
no more. Fiercely, strenuously, Cuvier was battling 
in the conflict; and if Susan’s memory came to him, 
it was only as the confused sense of distant presences 
which the hero of a street-fight feels. She was there, 
but in the background. If victory came his way, he 
might have leisure to again pursue her. At the 
present moment far more important calculations held 
him. 

Susan had nothing to claim a single moment of 
her interest. Even Mary was gone. When Rosalys 
i95 


196 CONFLICT 

Benton swept into the flat next day a cry of distress 
escaped her. 

“Susan ! How ill you look !” 

“Do I, dear ? What brings you up here ?” 

Susan stretched out a welcoming hand from the 
sofa where she sat. 

“My darling Sue, what’s happened ? Something has. 
I see it. Oh, my dear, do tell me !” 

Mrs. Ellestree felt two warm arms encircle her in a 
very wealth of bounteous affection ; with a sudden 
sense of .comfort she yielded to Rosalys’ caress. 

“You are a dear thing, Rosalys. It’s a comfort to 
know there are some people in the world who feel.” 

“It’s this horrid flat! It’s enough to make any one 
feel hipped. I’m not going to leave you another 
single minute. I’ve had to rush up for rehearsals. 
I’m at the "Cecil’ for two nights and you’ll just pack 
your bag and come across with me.” 

"‘You haven’t asked what’s the matter.” 

“Oh, my dear, it’s always the same matter. Beasts. 
I could kill men sometimes. All of them. Why 
couldn’t God have invented a race that would give less 
trouble, while He was about it ? There, don’t you dare 
to cry. And don’t tell me a single word if you don’t 
want to, but if you do, why, I’m here and perfectly 
crazy to know all about it” ; and Rosalys bestowed 
another kiss upon her friend, and sank on to the 
hearth-rug in a whirl of white muslin. 

Mrs. Ellestree looked down on the beautiful face, 
lit now with a sympathy divine in its absolute charity, 
and realised what a comfortable friend Rosalys was. 

“There are lots of things, dear; some too terrible 
and too intimate to talk about even to you. But the 
worst has come this morning. Tom’s, written 'to say 
he’s accepted a permament post in America, and I’m 
to go straight out to him.” 

“To live there?” 

“Five years at least.” 


CONFLICT 


197 

“Oh, but, Sue, you couldn’t. Why, what shall we do 
without you ? We couldn’t exist.”" 

“Oh, you’ll do very well. You have London, and 
your work, and everybody. But I ! At this moment, 
I feel I can’t. I simply can’t.” 

Her self-repression was overcome. She rose hys- 
terically. Rosalys slipped to a kneeling position, look- 
ing up at her.j 

“But why not? You’ve always wanted to go. 
You’ll love it when you’re once out there.” 

“No — no — no ! I shan’t know a soul, not that there’s 
any one I’d want to know. I couldn’t live out of 
England. One might as well be dead.” 

Mrs. Ellestree walked up and down the room. Her 
trailing gown swung tempestuously over the carpet. 
Her bosom swelled with emotion. Outside the 
window the rain splashed in warm showers ; a gust of 
wind drove it in upon her passionate face. She turned 
with unwonted irritation. 

Rosalys, wide-eyed and moved, gazed at her 
tragically. 

“What shall you do?” 

“I don’t know. It’s wicked to bring girls into the 
world and leave them penniless. I haven’t a single 
penny of my own, and if I refuse to go with Tom he’s 
quite capable of refusing an allowance. And I can’t 
work. I’m tied to him as much as his dog is. 
Worse; a dog can generally find another home, but 
I . . . ” 

“My dear, you can always have a home with 
me.” 

“You’re a wonderful friend, Rosalys. But I 
couldn’t live permanently on your kindness. It 
would be an impossible position. No. There’s 
another alternative. Perhaps you’ve guessed.” 

“Mr. Cuvier?” 

“Yes.” 

Rosalys pursed her lips; she accepted the situation 


CONFLICT 


198 

with a matter-of-factness which showed it was not 
novel to her comprehension, but she looked uneasy. 

“I should think it well over, Sue. If you were in 
the profession it would be different ; people accept 
you there. But outside . . . well, people aren’t so 
tolerant. You see you’ve nothing , dear. No money, 
nor a title, nor position, nothing to climb back by, if 
you go altogether. Of course I don’t mind, but other 
people may be horrid.” 

“I shan’t trouble my friends . . . after ...” 

“But you’ll miss them. Oh, believe me, you’ll miss 
them! Think, dear. You’ve liked being looked up 
to. You’re not Bohemian by nature. You’d feel the 
shame so much more than . . . than people like 
myself would. And even I . . . well, I don’t mind 
telling you I’ve had some bitter moments, so bitter 
that I’ve sometimes wondered if my freedom has been 
worth it. It’s funny to hear me preaching, isn’t 
it? I shouldn’t if it were another sort of woman. 
But for you ...” 

“I must live! You earn your living by your 
personal magnetism. I earn mine in the same way. 
You can dress up woman as an ideal, but she’s only 
something for man’s pleasure. If she’s on the stage 
she gets her fair price for charming him; if she’s a 
wife she must trot at his heels, and take what he likes 
to give her.” 

“That’s ridiculous. All women don’t marry for a 
home.” 

“No. They marry for the same reason that I 
shall ... go to Simeon Cuvier. I can’t live with- 
out him ... I can’t ... I can’t.” 

For years Susan Ellestree had built up a citadel of 
self-control; passion had sapped its foundations. At 
the moment of her life when she most needed its 
entrenchments, it had failed her. The ramparts 
carried, the citadel collapsed into unsightly ruin. A 
month ago, it would have been impossible for Susan 


CONFLICT 


199 


to have spoken of her deepest feelings to any living 
soul ; but now reserve had gone with self-control. The 
woman who had been a sheltering tower for those 
around her, stood helpless in the fire of her desire. 

“Oh, my dear ! My dear !” 

The histrionic temperament is quick to realise the 
full significance of emotion. The cry had come from 
a breaking heart, and Rosalys appreciated the force 
that had inspired it. This was no evanescent love, 
no desire born of ennui or propinquity ; the whole soul 
of the woman hungered for its mate. 

And the man was Simeon Cuvier. There lay the 
tragedy. 

“Well, have you nothing to say? I suppose you 
think me a fool.” 

“Oh, my dear, no . . . but . . . Simeon Cuvier.” 

Rosalys’ voice died down again; she sat on the 
sofa looking at Susan, her eyes big with uneasy 
caution. 

“Why not Simeon Cuvier? He’s strong enough to 
take care of me.” In spite of herself, the last words 
came lingeringly. “And he doesn’t care about 
ordinary conventions. He’s too great. That’s what 
drew us together ; he’s so magnificently self- 
contained. Rosalys, he’s the ideal I’ve always 
dreamed of. It’s too wonderful to think I’ve met 
him. Oh, I should be mad if I didn’t go.. Do you 
remember what I said once ? The cup is always 
held to us. There may be a sting lurking at the 
bottom of the draught, but I’d rather drink and be 
scorched than die of thirst. At least, I shall have 
had a flash of rapture. Oh, I want it so! I want 
it so !” 

“If it only wasn’t Simeon Cuvier !” 

“It wouldn’t have been any one. He’s a brute. I 
know it! He doesn’t attempt to hide it! I know 
exactly how he feels to me. I attract him, interest 
him, rest him. He wouldn’t sacrifice one of his 


200 


CONFLICT 


ambitions to me, but he wants me! I . . . only I 
. . . can satisfy his need of me. Oh, Rosalys . . . 
it’s so wonderful to feel he needs me !” 

“But does he?” 

Rosalys knew more than Susan did of Cuvier’s life. 
She hated to chill Susan’s joy, give pain, and seem 
unsympathetic, and yet she could not resist a note of 
warning even though she felt its uselessness. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

Mrs. Ellestree faced round with haughty aloofness. 
Rosalys stuck to her guns, albeit with a sinking 
of her heart which told her any effort would be 
wasted. 

“I mean ... his cruelty to women. He has no 
pity, Susan, when he is tired.” 

“I never supposed he’s any better than most men,” 
Susan spoke hardly. 

“No. No. It isn’t that. Heaven knows I don’t 
expect men to be old women. If Cuvier only fooled 
about with chorus-girls, I shouldn’t say a word. That 
would be no reason why he shouldn’t love and 
appreciate you all the more. But ... he isn’t human 
in the way he treats them. I told you once I knew 
Carrie Ray’s story. She met him when she first came 
out, and she was an honest, simple little thing. Her 
people were quite nice. So was she . . . till she met 
Cuvier. She fully thought he’d marry her. There 
was no reason why he shouldn’t have done. Then 
. . . well . . . the usual thing happened.” 

“She must have been willing. He isn’t a cad. He 
doesn’t lie to women . . . nor use force.” 

“Perhaps she thought his love was worth it . . . but 
. . . wait, Susan. After she had loved him for a 
month — all told — he stopped coming. She wrote. 
She got no answer. She called at his office. He 
wouldn’t see her, but that night he sent his secretary 
— a boy of twenty — to make arrangements ! So 
much a year or so much down on condition that she 


CONFLICT 


201 


never troubled him again. And she had been a good 
girl, she was nineteen, and she adored him. Susan, if 
he sent a boy of twenty to see you !” 

“You’re a fool ... a fool ...” Susan’s voice 
sounded a long way off : for a moment the story had 
left her stunned and broken. 

“There must have been some reason . . .” 

“She asked him that ; she humbled herself to do 
that, poor little thing. She wrote. She got an answer 
from his secretary. It said that Mr. Cuvier had press- 
ing business affairs and had no time for amusement. 
As his preoccupation would last indefinitely, he 
thought it fair to Miss Ray to bring their relation- 
ship to a definite conclusion. It ended with an an- 
nouncement that all communications would be opened 
and answered by the secretary only.” 

Rosalys paused. Mrs. Ellestree had her back 
turned. 

“I’ve seen the letter . . . She showed it to me . . . 
We happened to be in the same company once, and 
I didn’t dislike her. I was so sorry for her . . . 
when I heard her story I understood. She’s only 
twenty-three now. Just think. Susan . . . won’t you 
consider . . .?” 

“No!” 

With a flash, Mrs. Ellestree had turned. 

“No! Your story doesn’t bear on my case! Carrie 
Ray ! Good Heavens, to compare us ! Carrie Ray ! 
The by-word of two continents. What Mr. Cuvier 
felt for her couldn’t resemble what he feels for me. 
He respects me. You chose a bad example. His con- 
duct was quite right and wise. Those women have to 
be shaken off.” 

“She wasn’t one of those women then. She was 
a good girl, whose innocence and freshness were real. 
I don’t pretend to shield her now. But Cuvier 
brought her world crashing round her ears and she 
went mad. She drinks: she drugs: she spends her 


202 


CONFLICT 


life in snatching after fresh sensation ; but her heart's 
broken, and any day I shouldn’t be surprised to hear 
she’d put an end to herself. He took that girl, used 
her for a moment’s recreation, and tossed her off as 
he’d throw away his cigarette-ash.” 

“I’m glad. I hate her! I hate every woman he 
has known ! They’ve had him in those years when I 
didn’t know him.” 

“You’re mad! You’re not a girl; you know that 
passion isn’t everything.” 

“It is when you’ve never had it. I’ve longed to feel 
what I feel now. It’s tearing me to shreds. It’s 
broken all my cultivated virtues. It’s throwing me at 
his feet — on his mercy, and I know he has no mercy — 
but I can’t help myself !” 

“But try ... try to control ...” 

“I have! I sent him away. I don’t know how I 
did it, but I sent him from this very room the night I 
came up . . . two nights ago . . . was it only that? 
Rosalys, it’s been years since!” 

Susan held out her hand with a piteous cry. Rosalys 
knelt beside her, her great arms round her, mothering 
her. 

“Poor Sue ! Poor Sue ! Oh, why did God make us 
to suffer so ?” 

“I don’t know. All my life seems to have been a 
mockery. It’s supposed to be a good thing, isn’t it, 
to live for other people? Well, I’ve done that all my 
life. I’ve only lived for Ferroll and for Tom. It’s 
brought no happiness. It’s brought me nothing, 
not even the strength to combat this unholy love. It 
is unholy. I know it! I know it! He has decreed 
it. He doesn’t want the highest love, the wife-love, 
the love I could give him. But whatever he wants, 
I want to give him. And in giving, I shall have 
joy. The joy I’ve hungered for, but never even 
hoped for . . . the joy that is my right from life. 
Think how I have suffered, I, who could have been so 


CONFLICT 


203 


happy ! I have lived in the midst of shut doors ; now 
I’m desperate. I’ll burst this one open . . . and die 
. . . when the . . . secretary comes ... to make ar- 
rangements. But I shall have wrested joy from the 
starved potentialities that crowd round me; I shall 
have broken through them ! After . . . what mat- 
ters ? It is simply the end.” 

‘‘Will you be satisfied with what he has to give? 
If he loved you . . .” 

“He does ! He does ! As much as he can love . . . 
he has said it!” 

“He loved Carrie Ray; she was never happy. She 
always felt the wall.” 

“Why do you keep dragging in that woman’s 
name ?” 

“Because my heart bled for her! Oh, I know you 
think me an easily-touched person. So I am. But 
that woman’s wretchedness appalled me. She was 
seared, so seared that it made me sick to realise what 
she had suffered.” 

“And yet you asked Cuvier to dinner. You asked 
him down to stay with you.” 

“I know. I told you I knew he was a brute . . . 
yet . . . Well, one doesn’t think. He attracts am 
interests, and there’s the spice of deviltry that make 
one challenge such people and . . . and ...” 

“And so you let him stay ... to make me lov 
him. You did it, Rosalys.” 

“Good Heavens, don’t I know it? Isn’t that why 
I’m talking so? I feel it’s my fault. I was so lost 
in my own happiness, I didn’t trouble to watch where 
any one was going. And now my happiness is come 
I’m terrified lest I shall lose it as a judgment for hav 
ing been so reckless and so selfish. That’s wh) 
I’ve preached ! That’s why I haven’t sympathised. 
I should have done so once upon a time. Only my 
joy has changed me, sobered me, it’s made me 
feel responsible. Oh, Susan, I couldn’t bear to feel 


204 CONFLICT 

I’d any hand in making you look as Carrie Ray 
looks.” 

“You needn’t take responsibility. The Power that 
made us as we are, with desires and passions, is the 
only Power to be thanked or blamed. That, and our- 
selves. You were only one of the outside circum- 
stances. Don’t look so tragic. Nothing has happened 
yet! Nothing may ever happen. At present I have 
sent him away! I assure you, he won’t come back. 
He’s much too busy!” 

There was a bitter sting in the laughter. Rosalys 
might not have wisdom, but she was full of that most 
useful commodity of intercourse — tact. She slipped 
her arm through Mrs. Ellestree’s and stood be- 
side her. 

“Well, my dear, whatever you do, always count on 
me,” she said with perfect simplicity. “Now will it 
bore you to see a great deal of Dick these next two 
or three days? Because, to tell you the truth, I’am 
up for something besides rehearsals; and I simply 
must have a woman to go round with me and choose 
frocks.” 

“Rosalys! You’ve something to tell me.” 

Rosalys, half tears, half smiles, hid her head on 
Susan’s shoulder. 

“I’m going to be married,” said she. “In three 
weeks. He’s to be in the same company. Herbert’s 
engaged us both. Isn’t it glorious? He’s two years 
younger than I am, but he says it doesn’t matter, and 
oh, Susan, I will be a good wife to him.” 

“Oh, my dear, I’m so glad,” said Susan Ellestree. 
A foolish choky feeling came in her throat too. This 
magnificent Rosalys, with her wild bursts of gener- 
osity, her staunch heart, her unfailing forgiveness for 
every peccadillo under the sun, more, her ready sym- 
pathy for every one who sinned and suffered, was very 
dear to Susan Ellestree. Mary had only judged from 
theory. Susan knew. 


CONFLICT 


205 


Rosalys was the first to throw back her head and 
laugh the tears away; emotions chased one another 
very quickly, good-hearted, all of them. 

“Aren’t we idiots ? Who would think us two 
women of the world? she said with a catch in her 
throat. “And, my dear, I’m due at Paquin’s. Now 
tell your maid to pack a bag and send it to the 'Cecil.’ 
Any old gown. Every one’s away. Dick’s coming in 
to-night. We’ve a box for 'The American Belle.’ 
He’ll love to have you with us. Dick’s awfully fond 
of you.” 

Mrs. Ellestree kissed Rosalys, she could not speak. 
When the joy of one’s life has gone from it, love of 
any kind is to be accepted humbly. 

Rosalys followed her into her bedroom. Mrs. 
Ellestree put on a rose-garlanded hat, powdered her 
nose, and felt a little of life’s happiness returning to 
her. Then with Rosalys’ arm safely tucked in hers, 
she went down-stairs. 

Late that evening they sat out in the courtyard, 
watching the hansoms drive up and discharge their 
sumptuous loads. A bevy of American chorus girls 
arrived, with their attendant admirers. Foreigners 
strolled up and lounged in the basket-chairs. A cos- 
mopolitan babel filled the air, while the strains of the 
orchestra floated out from the restaurant. 

Rosalys, superb in happiness and shimmering clouds 
of golden tissue, radiated light ; by her side the young 
actor leaned adoringly. They talked well ; Rosalys’ 
clear voice bubbled with laughter as she flashed her 
careless comments on the play and people. And both 
she and her lover turned to Susan, including her in 
their love, warming her with their sympathy and 
homage. 

Rosalys was no mean retailer of friendship. Even 
into the closest circle of her heart’s romance, her 
friends should come. Lavishly she gave, and Susan 
lonely, desolate, accepted gratefully. 


206 


CONFLICT 


Yet as she gained her room and locked the door 
behind her, the path of renunciation seemed more chill 
than before. Morality was cold . . . cold as death. 
London, this London of the flaming restaurants and 
moonlit nights, spelt Life . . . and Love. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

“ My Queen shall have high observance.” 

R. Browning. 


“Miss van Heyten !” 

Cuvier’s tone was unflatteringly astonished. No 
man enjoys the invasion of women in office hours, and 
a visit from Mrs. Ellestree herself would have 
savoured of intrusion. Mary, pale and nervous, was 
a positive impertinence, and Cuvier did not trouble to 
disguise his feeling. 

The strain of the last hours had wrought his nerves 
to breaking point. He had aged perceptibly. The 
lines on his face had started into prominence, the skin 
was drawn and sallow, only his eyes burnt from under- 
neath the straight brows. 

Mary advanced into his room. Since her interview 
with Cobb she had spent her waking hours in a 
torturing agony of fear and impotence. Every 
moment certainly became intenser as to Sanders’ 
complicity. 

She had puzzled over his leering confidence; she 
had known he possessed further knowledge than he 
had confided to her. This was his secret, then! At 
the last moment one of his spies in Cuvier’s employ had 
tampered with the final test. 

Cuvier would withdraw from completion of his bar- 
gain, leaving it in Sanders’ hands. 

207 


208 


CONFLICT 


She had no proof, but she knew it as surely as she 
knew she was the head of Berryfield’s ! 

But what was she to do? Inform Cobb? Fie 
would laugh at her suspicion. That avenue of help 
was hopeless. Inform Cuvier? Would he believe 
her? Or would he look upon her information as an- 
other ‘‘move” — an impudently feeble one — on the 
part of Berryfield’s. If she told him of her position 
. . . would that help? 

Over and over she turned the tangled problem till 
her brain reeled in exhaustion. She passed a night 
of sleepless indecision, then when the morning sun- 
light dawned resolved to beard the lion. She must 
give Cuvier the chance of closing. At six his option 
lapsed. 

So three o’clock found her at Cuvier’s office. She 
had followed the office-boy, who took her card, and 
pushed past that amazed young gentleman upon the 
threshold of Mr. Cuvier’s sanctum. 

“You’ve come at a most inconvenient time. Mrs. 
Ellestree ought to have known better than to have 
sent you to my office.” 

Irritation rang through the words. Mary felt a 
sensation akin to fear. Instinct told her Cuvier was 
going to be “difficult.” 

She refuted his suggestion, however; she was en- 
wrapped in the importance of her visit. 

“It’s nothing to do with her. I’ve left her.” 

“Left her?” Cuvier was roused to momentary in- 
terest. “Why?” 

Mary’s conscience pricked her as she thought of 
the way in which she and Mrs. Ellestree had parted; 
her mein softened. 

“I had to go back to business.” 

Cuvier beheld her agitation and moved involun- 
tarily. It infuriated him — these women with their 
emotionalism, their insistent call for^ sympathy and 


CONFLICT 


209 


sentiment! There was no place for them on the 
battleground where man must fight his fellows — still 
less a place in his office in these desparate moments. 
He pulled himself together with cold resolution. This 
girl was no concern of his. That she had left Susan 
Ellestree did not surprise him after seeing her isola- 
tion in that passion-scented atmosphere ; but he 
could not undertake to help her. She must fight her 
own way. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t the time to listen.” He 
spoke brutally, chafing to be free of her appealing 
presence. 

“I won’t keep you a minute, only you — you must 
hear. It’s a question of such urgency. You don’t 
think I should have come here idly? You don’t think 
I should have come, if it had been possible to achieve 
my purpose in any other way? But there was no 
other.” 

Hesitancy had vanished. There are moments when 
the force of personality strikes through, overpowering 
and controlling. Something strong and penetrating 
rushed forth from Mary’s soul, compelling respect. 
She was no longer a weak intruder pestering him with 
supplication, but some one with a right to speak. With 
desperation had come self-reliance. 

“You must forgive me; I’m very worried just now. 
Come, what’s the matter ? I can give you five minutes. 
Now, you’re a business girl I know, so I’ll trust you 
to get through with it in that time. By the bye, is 
Mrs. Ellestree aware you’ve come?” 

“No. She doesn’t know where I am. She mustn’t 
know.” 

“But you’re not alone in London?” 

“Yes.” 

“Any friends here?” 

“No.” 

“Then where are you staying?” 

M 


210 


CONFLICT 


“At the Thackeray Hotel, until . . . ” 

“You mean to say you walked out of the house 
without knowing a single soul to come to except 
myself ?” 

“I’ve come to your office, not to you. I don’t think 
you know I’ve been at Berryfield’s.” 

“Berryfield’s ?” 

Cuvier’s keen eyes were fixed upon the girl. His 
mouth settled into a sardonic line. Beyond that his 
expression showed no change. The girl was going to 
tell him of some trivial matter, foolishly unimportant 
or . . . She had been sent by the opponent firm. 
Decidely not a good mood in which to approach Mr. 
Cuvier. When things went wrong with him his 
methods of redress were very primitive. He struck 
those who came within his reach. 

Mary raised her head. “Mr. Cuvier, I have no hope 
you will believe me. I am fully aware of the apparent 
folly of my visit to you. But your option expires at 
six o’clock to-day.” 

A steely glint shot through his eyes. This was the 
last move. She was going to advocate some 
policy about the patent. This half-starved, simple- 
looking clerk was another spy. She had wormed 
herself into his pity. Was Mrs. Ellestree another 
tool? 

Suspicions flashed across his brain with devilish 
activity. At every corner of his path Berryfield’s had 
sent forth a stealthy tentacle : the network had closed 
round him. Now, for the first time, he saw the finger 
moving. 

His face paled every so slightly. Those who knew 
Cuvier would not have felt comfortable if they had 
faced him now. 

“Your option expires at six,” Mary repeated, 
gaining courage by the announcement of the mo- 
mentous fact. “That is why I am here, Mr. Cuvier. 


CONFLICT 


21 1 


The last test has failed. I am certain Sanders has 
had some hand in it. I implore you to take up the 
patent.” 

“Close?” 

“Yes, you can. I know the money’s wait- 
ing in the bank. Send it, I implore you, send 
it !” 

“You know that Sanders has had some hand in the 
failure of the final test?” 

“Yes.” 

“May I ask for your proofs?” 

“I have none. I can only tell you.” 

“Not very reliable information on which to throw 
away ten thousand pounds.” 

“Oh, I know that. I know how hard it has been 
for you to get the money. But, knowing that, I beg 
of you to risk it.” 

“And why are you so concerned?” 

“Because . . . because I want you to have it and 
not Sanders. He’ll be ready — I know it.” 

“Really !” 

Cuvier’s eyebrows raised themselves. “I scarcely 
know on which to compliment you most — your touch- 
ing confidence in my impressionability or the extent 
of your knowledge. Now, may I ask, how did you 
know the money’s at the bank, that it had been hard 
for me to get it, and that I was not going to 
close ?” 

How did she know? 

Officiously, memory hurried to her aid. Blankly 
she realised that Cobb had told her — Cobb, whom her 
sympathy had drawn on to confide — and she had come 
straight to Cuvier with his confidence. 

The enormity of the situation crept slowly on her, 
slowly but inflexibly. She had been so wrapped up 
in her responsibilities that she had betrayed the trust 
which the boy had reposed in her. Cuvier’s eyes 


212 


CONFLICT 


were burning into her. She elapsed her hands 
together. Now for the first time she lost her self- 
possession. How could she tell him? She could 
not. 

"Well?" 

"I ... I don’t see that it matters how the in- 
formation came." Her throat was parched and dry. 
Speech was a physical pain. 

"It matters a good deal, because until this moment 
I imagined only one other person in the world shared 
my knowledge; and my decision re the patent can 
only have become the property of Berryfield’s through 
this channel. I believe I have heard of you in a busi- 
ness capacity before. You are the late Mr. Berryfield’s 
private secretary?" 

"Yes." 

Mary was sheet- white, her faculties were dazed. 
She could only answer the merciless cross-ques- 
tioning. 

"You have met Mr. Cobb?" 

"Yes." 

Again the helpless whisper. Something in the girl’s 
face attracted the questioner’s notice. 

"More than once?" 

"Yes." 

Cuvier pressed the bell upon the table promptly. 

"Ask Mr. Cobb to come here." 

Mary had risen at the words ; she broke in 
hoarsely — 

"It’s no use my staying. I came to tell you some- 
thing for your good. I have done my share. I can’t 
do any more. If you lose the patent, it’s your fault, 
not mine!" 

"Ah, Cobb ; it’s all right ! Come in. Miss van 
Heyten is, I believe, a friend of yours." 

Cobb stood by the door, his hands still on the knob ; 
his eyes rested on Mary’s in stupefaction. She dared 


CONFLICT 


213 


not look at him. There was a strange humming sound 
reverberating in her ears. Cuvier’s voice sounded 
distantly. 

“She has called on me to advise me to complete 
purchase of the patent. She is possessed of much 
information concerning my operations; information 
which by its nature must be of very recent date. Can 
you throw any light on Miss van Heyten’s peculiar 
knowledge?” • 

“What is it, sir?” 

Cobb’s voice sounded far away. Mary waited for 
Cuvier’s answer. She knew that it must come. It 
came. 

“That the last test has failed : that the ten thousand 
is waiting at the bank ; that I have obtained it at great 
sacrifice : and that at this last moment I am not going 
to complete purchase.” The words came bitingly, 
cleaving the air with terrible distinctness. 

“I told Miss van Heyten, sir.” 

“You?” 

“Yes.” 

“May I ask why you were so astonishingly 
generous with information that I thought belonged 
to me?” 

Silence again, a long silence broken by a harsh 
young voice whose words seemed wrung from it. 

“I didn’t know that I was telling her. I . . . I . . . 
I can’t excuse myself.” 

No word from Mary. 

What was there to say? 

She had betrayed Cobb’s confidence; had offered 
him up an anguished sacrifice on the fiery altar of 
her resolve. 

Cobb’s eyes were staring steadily in front of him: 
his set lips showed his hurt. 

“It was foolish, Cobb: harmless in this case, 
because Berryfield’s have used a clumsy tool; but 


214 


CONFLICT 


foolish because it is never wise to confide in the spies 
of one’s enemies, even though their spy may be a pa- 
thetic-looking young woman.” 

“A spy, oh, you do not believe that?” 

The appeal was not made to Cuvier. He had passed 
out of existence. For Mary, the drama centered round 
one figure, a boy’s, whose drawn face told the bitter- 
ness of his suffering. 

He had confided in a woman, and she had delivered 
his confidence into the hands of his idol. But she 
had not won that confidence by treachery! She had 
not sympathised to draw it from him. 

Hayden Cobb raised his eyes. “No, I do not 
believe it.” 

Across the room his gaze met hers; she had not 
realised until that moment what it would have meant 
if he had failed her. He understood in the revulsion 
that followed her despair. She had stretched out her 
hand and found support. 

Cobb’s answer had not left Cuvier untouched. His 
trusted secretary had betrayed office secrets to this 
girl : and still he would not desert her. 

“Would it be intruding on too private ground, 
if I asked the reason of your touching faith, 
Cobb?” 

Cuvier’s voice was icy-cold. Cobb read the inflec- 
tion rightly. 

Fie answered briefly, “I think her interest is bound 
up in Berryfield’s. I do not think she realises what 
she is doing. She only thinks of Berryfield’s. I 
volunteer the information. I was vain enough to 
think she was interested in me — I have no other 
excuse, sir.” 

With the same grim stoicism that had kept his father 
alone by the guns, amidst a horde of savages, 
Cobb opened his Holy of Holies and laid his sacred 
secret bare before the eyes of the man who mocked 


CONFLICT 


215 


at woman and held love weak madness ; before the 
woman who had drawn him on to speak of the 
hopes and dreams he had guarded so jealously through 
all his life. 

His blanched lips told the effort; he had pride, an 
inconvenient amount of it. But Cuvier must laugh : 
Mary must see his weakness. He could not shelter 
behind her treachery; she was a woman and must be 
defended. Pride, dignity and honour must go by the 
board : the straight, old-fashioned sense of chivalry 
stood highest. 

And for Mary, the whole world changed colour and 
became at once more beautiful because of a boy’s sense 
of manhood, and more desolate than it had ever been 
in all her grey young life, for in the words she read 
the death of all that Hayden Cobb had felt for her. 

But he had stood for what was right — apart from 
personal feeling. With such an example she could 
do the same. 

She hated Cuvier: hated to help him: but she 
must think impersonally. He had refused to be 
guided by her unsubstantiated warning. That did not 
relieve her from her trust. 

The hands of the clock were travelling swiftly to 
the appointed hour. She must act, now, at whatever 
cost to Berryfield’s. She drew herself up with 
a certain cold young dignity which both men per- 
ceived, and at which they mentally marvelled. Amaz- 
ingly unsensitive — or amazingly self-controlled — the 
girl must be ! Her voice had not a quiver in it as she 
spoke. 

“There is no time now to explain. I will see you 
again, Mr. Cuvier.” 

Cuvier’s reply was ineffective. She had gone, gone, 
leaving two men to bring their own little drama to a 
conclusion, the eternal drama of man’s love which 
woman poisons. 


216 


CONFLICT 


Their relationship was not the first consideration in 
their minds, however, the sting remained in the back- 
ground, a dull and aching soreness. Each was caught 
up in a tumult of confusion of which Mary was the 
centre. 

Cuvier’s thoughts were bent on the object of her 
interview. She could not have imagined he would 
take any notice of her warning, but if not, why warn 
him? Was she a tool of Berryfield’s, an unconscious 
one? But even then, what purpose could Sanders 
have imagined she would serve? Or had she over- 
heard something? Had she real knowledge? Then 
why bring it to him whom she hated ? His eyes turned 
on Cobb in absolute puzzlement. 

“Have you any clue, Cobb ?” 

“Not one.” 

“But you believe she’s sincere ?” 

The boy hesitated. Mary had told him she knew 
nothing of what Berryfield’s was doing and he found 
her here, with Cuvier, acting for Berryfield’s. She had 
promised not to say a word to any one about the 
information he had so foolishly let out: and had 
brought it straight to Cuvier. 

And yet — yet her serious grey eyes defended her. 
The ring of her voice, the clear, straightforward 
diction, above all the atmosphere of dignity and 
purity which emanated from her, sprang up, sturdy 
champions. He did believe in her. Against the 
verdict of common-sense, of smarting pride, of 
wounded love, he still believed! He had misread her 
interest in him, but she had some reason for her 
actions which justified them to her stern, pure con- 
science. 

As the knight of old held his lady’s gage against 
all odds, Hayden Cobb held high the gage of his 
belief. 

“Yes, sir. I’d stake all I have that she is honest.” 


CONFLICT 


217 


“Would you have closed, then?” 

“No, sir. I think she jumps to conclusions: she is 
a woman.” 

“So it seems. You remember I warned you, 
Cobb.” 

The young man gazed straight in front of him, his 
set lips showed no movement, yet Cuvier’s shot pierced 
home. 

“Well, we can do nothing but wait for this last 
move of Berryfield’s to disclose its fell intent! That’ll 
do, Cobb!”- 

“Yes, sir. It’s no use saying I’d have cut my tongue 
out if I’d have thought . . 

“No use, Cobb, as long as you trust any woman. 
When time has laboriously hacked that trust away I 
will depend on you again.” 

Cobb went out. When, in one fell swoop, one 
stands bereft of love of woman and the trust of man, 
there is nothing for it but to bear in silence. 

As for Cuvier, gambler with Life’s metamorphoses, 
he sat back in his chair, and grimly estimated there 
would be a waiting time in front of him, till Sanders’ 
hand showed itself. He might rest for a moment. It 
would be best to distract his mind from the fretting 
puzzles that surrounded the struggle — the struggle 
which either Fate had solved or Sanders won. 

In the drawer of his desk a note lay that had arrived 
that morning. 

“Have decided to join my husband in America. 
Leaving to-night. Good-bye.” 

So she was escaping too; he was losing on every 
side. 

Not so! 

An unpleasant smile that had no tenderness curved 
his mouth. 

He drew a sheet of paper towards him: then, with 
deliberate intent, penned words which he knew would 


218 


CONFLICT 


bring Susan Ellestree to his feet. He told her he was 
ruined ; and he needed her. 

It might be true: in any case he was no longer in 
the mood to wait with patience the fulfilment of desire. 
The chafing brute within him hungered for something 
it could hurt and master. 


CHAPTER XIX 


“ Never fear but there’s provision 
' Of the devil’s to quench knowledge 

Lest we walk the earth in rapture.” 

R. Browning 

“Why, Sue?” 

Susan on her knees, surrounded by band-boxes, 
looked up with a cry which could not be construed into 
one of welcome. 

“Ferroll ! You shouldn’t walk in like that!” 

“I rang. As no one seemed to be at home and 
the door was left open, I thought I might as well come 
in. What are you doing? Spring-cleaning ?” 

Susan submitted to his salute with ill-concealed im- 
patience. 

“No, but I’m very busy. What did you want?” 

“Only to see you.” 

“Well, I can’t have you here: the flat’s all shut up. 
I’m staying at the 'Cecil’ with Rosalys. Have you 
heard she’s going to be married?” 

“Yes. Rather a decent chap. All right. I’ll 
come too. I’ve left my bag in the hall. I’m at a loose 
end for the next three days. I go to Montrose on 
Saturday.” 

Mrs. Ellestree pulled out hats in a rather unfriendly 
silence. Ferrol sat down in the one arm-chair and 
studied her with a growing suspicion which he was 
careful to conceal. His next question came casually. 

“Heard anything of Mary?” 

219 


220 


CONFLICT 


“Nothing.” Mrs. Ellestree rose with a handful of 
motor-veils, and crossing to the dressing-table stood 
with her back to him. In the looking-glass Ferroll 
observed her lips were pursed up obstinately as she 
folded the veils into the scanty compass of a cretonne- 
covered box. 

“Are you going away?” asked Ferroll. 

Mrs. Ellestree took great pains to fit the last veil 
in and shut the box before she answered. 

“For a little while.” 

“Where?” 

“I’m not quite certain.” 

“With whom? Rosalys?” 

“Oh, my dear Ferroll, what has it to do with you 
where I’m going, or with whom?” Susan pulled a 
drawer out in positive ill-temper. 

“There’s nothing veVy extraordinary in the ques- 
tion,” Ferroll answered reasonably. “What’s put you 
out?” 

“Nothing.” 

When Mrs. Ellestree retired into the fastnesses of 
dignity, those who knew her best, knew better than 
to follow. Susan, arranging glove-boxes with the 
air of an early Roman empress, was not a person 
to be bullied or persuaded. Ferroll abandoned his 
attempts at casual chat, and rose, hurt in his 
turn. 

“All right. I’m off if you don’t want me. I suppose 
you’ve heard Tom’s coming back?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh ! And he’s told you his plans ?” 

“D’you mean about America?” 

Susan’s voice was very hard. Ferroll noticed the 
suppressed resentment that lay behind the monotonous 
tone. 

“Yes. That’s really why I came up. However, I’ll 
wait till you’re in a different mood.” 


CONFLICT 


221 


“If you’ve anything to tell me, you’d better say it 
now.” 

Mrs. Ellestree still kept her face averted; Ferroll 
detected a slight change in her previous inaccessibility. 

“Oh no. It’ll keep. It’s the greatest piece of luck, 
your going at this moment.” 

Mrs. Ellestree’s fine figure stood motionless, arrested 
in the act of depositing glove-boxes, veils and handker- 
chiefs upon the bed. Her back was turned to Ferroll, 
but he was struck by the oddness of her attitude. It 
was almost as if she had heard a warning. When she 
spoke, her voice came rather strange. 

“What d’you mean by that ?” 

“I’ll tell you in America. I’ve been offered a billet 
there.” 

Mrs. Ellestree crossed slowly to the bed, laid her 
burden thereon, and turned, facing the speaker. She 
met his gaze coldly. 

“I don’t think you’ll find me in America,” she 
said. 

“But Tom wrote . . 

“Oh, you’ll see Tom. He won’t miss me very much, 
will he?” 

“But Tom says he’s given notice for the lease . . . 
you can’t stop here. He’d never let you.” 

“No. I’m sure he wouldn’t.” Mrs. Ellestree smiled 
hardly. “And, you see, I’m equally determined not 
to go to Tom.” 

Ferroll was emphatically a man of action; he also 
possessed instinct that was almost feminine. 

“Don’t make a fool of yourself, Susan,” said he. 
“You’ve always longed to see America. It’s been one 
of our dreams.” 

“I’ve woke up, you see,” Mrs. Ellestree answered; 
she put her hand upon the bed-rail. 

Should she tell Ferroll ? There had always 
been supreme confidence between them . . . except 


222 CONFLICT 

with regard to Tom. There, Susan owed another 
loyalty. 

Now in this piognant crisis of her life she wanted 
Ferroll’s sympathy. She knew that he would give it. 
He was not conventional. He knew all there was to 
know of life and shared Susan’s philosophic and im- 
personal attitude towards it. 

Yes. She might tell Ferroll with impunity. It 
was not a pleasant thing to tell, but she would rather 
he heard it from her lips than from any one else’s. It 
would hurt him. She knew that it would hurt him, 
but not so much if she confided in him. Not so 
much as if he came ... to find her gone ... to 
hear after it was over . . . perhaps from strangers 
... of the step that she was taking. 

Ferroll had concealed escapades from her. The 
sting lay not so much in his wrong-doing, as in the 
fact that he had kept his experiences from her. 

She would not let him suffer as he, perhaps uncon- 
sciously, had made her suffer. 

She spoke out plainly. 

“Some one’s awakened me. I have the chance of 
living, Ferroll : and I’m going to take it.” 

“What is the chance?” asked Ferroll. He stood like 
a youthful Daniel, facing her. 

Mrs. Ellestree took a deep breath, then lifted her 
head defiantly. 

“I don’t see why I need mind telling you, as every- 
body will know in a few days’ time,” she said harshly. 
“I’m going away with the only man I’ve ever seen 
whom I could love. I know perfectly well what I 
shall lose; but I shall gain a good deal. I . . . I’ve 
thought it all out. I’m not a girl, I’m a woman ; I shall 
soon be old ; and I want happiness.” 

She ended with a sudden breaking-down. Suddenly 
she felt Ferroll’s arm around her shoulders. Her face 
was buried in the pillows. 


CONFLICT 


223 


“Poor old Sue! Poor old Sue!” 

He made no comment on what she had told him. 
The sobs lessened in violence; presently she sat up, 
drying her eyes, and patting her hair into some sort of 
order. 

“I’m a perfect fool. It is funny how women cling 
to the conventional, even when it has nothing that we 
want, to give us. But ... oh, Ferroll, I’m so unhappy. 
Don’t preach ! I shall go mad if you begin ! It 
won’t do any good. I’ve made my mind up. We 
start by the boat-express to-night. I dine with 
him first at the ‘Continental.’ Oh, why shouldn’t 
I be looking forward to it ? Why shouldn’t it 
be a wedding-feast? I’m in love with him, and 
you know as well as I do that marriage is only a 
convention, and we have too much brain to be the 
puppets of convention, only . . . how strong it is in 
us !” 

Susan crossed to the dressing-table and dabbed a 
powder-puff upon her face. 

Ferroll was staring at her helplessly. It was the 
old Sue who spoke: Sue, who treated all things with 
philosophy, yet not the sister he had known. The 
philosophic words come strangely from her parched 
lips. Burning-eyed, she looked at him: a new spirit 
filled her. There was no protection, no divine re- 
nunciation in her gaze now: this woman demanded, 
claimed, extorted. He was at sea. He had always 
come to Susan with his troubles, his affairs : now he 
felt pushed out of her arena. Suddenly a wall divided 
them, and on the other side, Sue turned to satisfy her 
hunger . . . leaving him . . . 

Leaving him for what? The thought of Cuvier 
came to him, making him sick and terrified. Sue in 
the hands of such a man! It was one thing to know 
Cuvier; even to like him. Another — quite another — 
to think of Susan helpless at his mercy. 


224 CONFLICT 

“My darling girl, you can’t do this thing, it’s mad- 
ness” 

“Sheer, unquestioned madness, Ferroll ! D’you 
think I don’t know. Oh, my dear, I’ve counted the 
cost for three weary days. I refused to pay, at first: 
so he went. I have starved since then : now I can’t 
haggle. I must have him. I love him.” 

“If you would only hold tight for a few days, you 
would conquer. I’ve felt like you feel : think how 
you’ve talked to me.” 

“You? Oh, my dear, you have wasted your love; 
it has lit a hundred fires. I have never yielded. All 
the years of my life I have repressed self. First for 
you; when I was a little girl I played the part of 
mother to you, and felt a mother’s cares! My girl- 
hood’s dreams were dreams of a lover who would help 
me to make you happy. I married so that I could set 
you free.” 

“That’s it.” Ferroll caught at a straw of hope. 
“Think of poor old Tom. It isn’t fair to him. Think 
how good he’s been to us all these years. It will be 
so hard on him.” 

“Hard on Tom!” 

Mrs. Ellestree’s voice rang with a curious inflection. 
She leaned against the bedroom looking out, past 
Ferroll, upward through the window, as if she were 
seeing farther than the tree-tops. Her lips smiled a 
little — not a pleasant smile. 

“Hard on Tom! How little people know of one 
another. You to say I’m hard on Tom! Yes, I’m 
hard now. But when I married, I wasn’t. I said I 
married Tom to help you. I didn’t say how passion- 
ately grateful I was. I didn’t tell you what a romantic 
idealist I was then! You know how I love making 
people happy. I came to London full of hopes and 
plans for Tom’s happiness. I was to be such a strength 
to him! I was to share all his ambitions and his 


CONFLICT 


225 


interests. I was to help him. He let me talk like 
that . . . during the honeymoon. It filled up the 
time between the kisses. Then we came home. Two 
days after, I went down to his office to walk back with 
him. ... It was the night of his dining-club at the 
Savoy, a man’s club which met to eat . . . He had 
intended to wire me ; naturally he was irritated when 
I arrived. He hated women in his office, too. His 
men friends might call in for him, not his wife. Only 
two days in London, and I learnt where the woman’s 
place was — in the home her master had provided, 
waiting his pleasure ! . . . We made friends again . . . 
then there came other quarrels ... I never told you 
. . . you were only a boy, and I didn’t want to spoil 
our home for you . . 

“I guessed.” 

“Did you? Well you saw how hard I struggled for 
comradeship, till I realised it was all no use and grew 
philosophic. I tried to build up a life of my own, 
matching my old ideals as well as I could. I’m a 
conservative person, you know, and while no other 
man appeared upon the scene, my husband filled the 
place of pivot. But I was hungry ! I starved inwardly, 
craving for affection and comradeship. You see you 
were young, and full of your own affairs.” 

“Oh, Sue ! If I could go back again ! I’ve been rotten 
to you.” 

“No, dear, it was only natural you should have 
wanted to live your own life by yourself. I understood. 
I never blamed you for leaving me. But I have 
always been lonely. I’ve never had a life of my own ; 
I’ve always lived on the edge of other people’s. Now 
that a man comes who needs me and whom I need, I 
possess no safeguard that can hold me from him. 
Knowing what sort of husband Tom has been to me, 
I feel no loyalty. As for the sacredness of marriage 
. . . Tom owns me legally, but his soul has refused to 
IS 


226 CONFLICT 

even speak with mine. Now do you understand why 
I am going away?” 

“Yes, yes! If I could be sure you were going to 
happiness, Fd be the first to help you. But Cuvier 
. . . it is Cuvier, isn’t it? . . . Cuvier’s got such a 
rotten reputation. Of course, if you know he’s going 
to marry you . . 

The woman put up her hands before her face with 
a sudden throb; her shoulders shook with passionate 
agony. Her native honesty could not let her lie even 
to save her deepest pride. 

“No. He won’t marry me. Oh, Ferroll, women 
have envied the worship men have given me, yet there 
is no man in the world who is prepared to offer me 
the simple human life I crave for. A man’s love, 
children, peace!” 

Thus did Susan Ellestree lay down her sovereignty 
before the brother who had knelt before her : who knelt 
now. 

“Oh, Sue, Sue! If I could die to help you!” 

The sound of the boy’s grief brought Susan back 
to ordinary life again — the life where she protected 
people, comforting and soothing. She bent down over 
Ferroll’s waving hair, full of his sorrow, forgetful of 
her own. 

“You silly boy! I’m a happy woman. Yes, happy, 
Ferroll ! Directly I see him, all my doubts and 
troubles will be gone. After all, what do the little 
man-made conventions count? I have tried marriage 
and respectability, it hasn’t brought much satisfaction, 
has it? There is nothing in the world that can bring 
joy to a woman but love — the love that will give all. 
He is ruined. He wants me by him now, to comfort 
him, and soothe, and help him. He . . . who is so 
strong.” 

“Ruined?” 

“He says so: there is at least grave chance of it. 


CONFLICT 


227 


Think! He has written to me, to ask me to be 
merciful and come. Oh, Ferroll, I touched heaven 
when I read that letter. If I were to lose my whole 
life for it, I would not refuse him now he needs me.” 

Divine the love and pity which shone in Susan’s 
eyes. If Cuvier wished for an unholy love, even he 
would find it hard to desecrate and pull down to gross- 
ness the fire that lit her soul. 

“But, Susan ... if he has lost his money, what of 
your look-out?’ 

“I?” 

“He’ll have to make some provision for you. Tom 
will divorce you.” 

“Well?” 

“Well ... if Cuvier hasn’t money ... he won’t 
be able to settle anything upon you . . . if . . . any- 
thing happens. It can't last, you know.” 

“And do you think that I’d take Simeon Cuvier’s 
money if he had done with me. Why you talk as if 
this love of mine was bought.” 

Susan had raised herself; she looked over Ferroll’s 
head with a glory in her eyes. She was giving 
generously and she knew it: abandoning everything, 
the worship that meant so much to her ; security that 
meant so much ; her pride, her dignity, her self-con- 
trol, all were for him, to tread into the dust, to rise 
against her, to pierce her to the heart. She kept no 
weapon. 

And for reward? She wanted nothing. Only that 
he should satisfy his need. 

“But, Susan, you must live. Poverty would be 
hell to you : the disgrace will be bad enough.” 

“I want to suffer for him! If he goes, I shall kill 
myself.” 

“You say that now.” 

“I mean it.” 

“Yes !” 


228 


CONFLICT 


Ferroll had risen: he turned away from her, with 
the touch of irritation which his sister’s invincible 
finality always occasioned in him. He knew too 
well. 

“You mean it now. I mean things; but I don’t do 
them. We’ve the same blood in our veins. Life 
calls too loudly to us. Life! We want to drain it. 
That’s why you’re going to Cuvier. But listen, Sue. 
You’ve made me hear reason, it’s only fair you should 
let me give some back to you. The day will come 
when he will go from you, and as sure as that day 
comes, so surely will you live. You’ll mean to die, 
but when it comes to shutting out the sunshine, and 
the moonlight, and the trees, and the sea, and taste, 
and touch, and beauty for nothingness — grey nothing- 
ness — you won’t do it! Then where will you be if 
you’re left without a penny?” 

“I could earn my living.” 

‘‘How? Work will be shut to you. You’ll have 
lost your reputation. Besides, the life you’ll lead with 
Cuvier won’t fit you for drudgery. No. You’ll 
struggle for a time, then you’ll grow desperate. Re- 
member! Cuvier will kill your self-respect. You’ll be 
driven to where other women as good, as proud, as 
delicate as you have gone. If Cuvier doesn’t provide 
for you . . .” 

“Better that . . . than his money ! The other women 
have taken that. At least, he shall find me different 
there !” 

“You know his life . . .” 

“I know it through and through.” 

“And knowing it, you give yourself!” 

“He needs me, and I want him.” 

The cry burst from her, tearing her heart with it. 
What use all this arguing and prating? Her lover 
needed her. She only knew that. Dark stretched 
his past, dark stretched the future; but she stood in 


CONFLICT 


229 

a blaze of glory, soon to be consummated in unearthly 
rapture. 

No one lived but him. Tom, Ferroll, Rosalys, were 
as pale ghosts in a world of shadows. All rooms were 
empty where he was not. All prospects futile that did 
not centre round him. 

Woman was for man. She rejoiced that she had 
always held that gospel, that she had so perfected soul 
and body that they found favour in her lover’s eyes 
and he had stretched forth his hand for her. 

If he had not wanted her ! There had been the 
tragedy. Wanting her, life was an ecstatic paean — a 
consummation of her rarest hopes. 

And this shadowy ghost would hold her back for 
fear that the future would see her unprovided for. At 
that moment Susan would have forded raging seas, or 
cloven a fiery screen to reach her lover. 

The feverish miserable recklessness had vanished: 
she stood superb in a white fire of passion, so intense 
that her senses became stilled and she could look down 
on Ferroll and laugh. 

Ghosts to keep her from her lover! 

“Oh, Sue, Sue, do nothing for a day or two. You’ll 
come out of this mood. You’re like me. I know 
you !’ 

So cried Ferroll, meeting his own likeness in his 
sister, and sick with horror at the sight of it. This 
mood would send her headlong to Cuvier’s grasp; on 
the morrow she would wake to wisdom ! 

“You have never felt as I do now.” 

She could speak calmly, even smile. How vague 
and shadowy his passions were ! 

“That’s it. I can forget. You won’t be able to. I 
regret . . . and the devil sends me pricking on again. 
You’ll never stop regretting. I hunger . . . and find 
new fruits daily. You’ll starve for the one that you 
can’t have. Oh, Susan, think.” 


230 


CONFLICT 


“Go! Go!” 

She recoiled from him. His words were hurting, 
though desire still clamoured. He could not check 
her now, he could only stir up the doubts that tortured 
her. 

“You can do no good, I am past helping. Go.” 

Ferroll read an irrevocable decision in her eyes. He 
came up to her and put his arms about her, holding her 
to him silently. 

Foolish little memories came rushing back to him 
of one day when his child’s heart had nearly broken 
because he was not allowed to go to a friend’s party ; 
dancing was not approved of! Of other times when 
a bad report seemed an irretrievable calamity, when 
his head ached and lessons must still be toiled through, 
of a whole week’s deprivation of sugar in his tea; and 
every time of Susan’s sympathy. Her loving arms 
had sent all grief away; in them, he had sheltered. 
And he had done nothing for her. Yes, one thing; 
she had misjudged him there. 

He pressed his face against hers as he had used to 
do in the miserable days of childhood. 

“Sue, dear, I didn’t make love to Mary, honour . . . 
I held out. I told her what I was. It saved her.” 

“Oh, why did you speak of her?” 

Mrs. Ellestree had drawn away from him, she had 
grown to sudden whiteness. 

“I wanted you to know.” 

“She over-estimated me, ridiculously, but . . . oh, 
that’s the only thing I care about. It was so wonder- 
ful to be loved as a mother’s loved! She’ll never feel 
anything to me again, but . . . What a fool I am! 
There! I can’t talk sense to-day. Go, I’ll write to 
you and tell you . . . how we get on. Good-bye, don’t 
touch me, if you love me, go!” 

Ferroll obeyed her. His heart was aching, he 
knew that all he could say, all he could do, was useless. 


CONFLICT 


231 


As he went, a mocking knowledge came to him that 
as he felt now, so must Susan have felt impotent and 
wretched over and over again in the long-away past, 
when she had tried to hold him back . . . and had 
failed. 


CHAPTER XX 


“’Tis an awkward thing to play with souls.” 

R. Browning, A Light Woman. 

Mary had been right! 

The hurrying bustle of the City encompassed her. 
The passers-by jostled her, impeding, hindering. 
Mary walked on, unheeding. London no longer 
frightened her. She had staked and won. Had pitted 
instinct and intuition against men’s rascality and cau- 
tion; and had won. 

She had reached the lawyer’s office on the stroke 
of five. The letters-patent now were in her hands. 
It was late, for there had been doubt about her cheque. 
The inventor had insisted on sending to the bank 
before acceptance. But at last they had had to yield. 
She had come on behalf of Mr. Cuvier; the cheque 
was good. The money had been placed upon the table 
— before six ! 

Strange, how a moment alters circumstances. An 
hour since Mary had stood helpless in a storm of 
buffets, now by a stroke of the pen she had sur- 
mounted all. She had dared to risk her intuition. The 
patent was still untested, but Sanders had sent his 
cheque; that verified her suspicion. 

In any case, she had vindicated Berryfield’s. If the 
patent proved worthless, the loss was hers. If it 
proved of value, the advantage was Cuvier’s. Her 
sincerity could not be questioned now. 

She had emerged from Cuvier’s office ashamed and 
232 


CONFLICT 233 

trembling; she re-entered with the assured step of the 
victor. 

Cuvier was still at his desk: his amazed expression 
was intensified by Mary’s words. 

“The patent is yours, Mr. Cuvier. Reich has 
accepted my cheque on your behalf.” 

“Your . . . cheque . . .” 

“Yes. I am Berryfield’s. It was left to me.” 

“So that explains . . .” 

Cuvier’s gaze rested on Mary with a volte-face 
that was as complete as it was unconscious. Mary 
possessed Berryfield’s. She was a power. For the 
girl clerk, poor, dependent, the possible tool or honest 
blundering meddler, he felt nothing but a contempt 
which might instigate him to kindness or brutality 
according to his mood. For the girl who owned the 
biggest steel works in the country, and not only 
owned but managed it, he felt a respect which would 
cause him to treat her with cold justice. He tortured 
weakness as a cat a mouse; he met strength in fair 
battle. 

That Mary possessed power, atoned for the fact of 
her womanhood. He saw courage in her eyes: he 
recognised decision, capability, intelligence in her 
bearing: he read strength in her square jaw and firm 
mouth. He was no longer man, trampling on her 
womanhood. She had power ! 

Now he could appreciate her sense of honour. 

“The honour of Berryfield’s is worth ten thousand 
pounds to me.” 

“But my dear Miss van Heyten, this patent is 
worthless. If it had not been, I should have taken up 
my option.” 

“Sanders’ cheque was in the lawyer’s hands. I 
overheard your conversation when Mr. Cobb came 
down to fetch you; I went to Birmingham next day 
— Sanders had taken out an option on the patent in 
his own name; Denvers had formed a syndicate to 


CONFLICT 


$34 

enable him to purchase. My lawyer understood the 
option was taken on behalf of Berryfield's. Sanders 
had signed another document, making himself assignee. 
I had brain-fever directly after your messenger 
arrived with the first hint of Sanders’ duplicity ; he 
knew when I came back his opportunity would be at 
an end.” 

“And why, in the name of all that’s reasonable, 
didn’t you tell me this this morning ?” 

“Because you might not have believed me: and 
you might have stopped me purchasing the patent. 
It was not only Sanders I was fighting. Now you 
have the patent, vou can say nothing against Berry- 
field’s!” 

Cuvier was face to face with a difficult proposition : 
Fortune’s wheel had revolved to good purpose and 
had placed his right within his hand, yet had placed 
an obligation in the other which it was impossible 
to ignore as it was impossible to refuse. By every 
canon of equity and justice, the patent should fall to 
him who had first acquired it, and paid for its 
proving, who, moreover had been tricked into failing 
to complete the purchase. And yet his rival’s gen- 
erosity had saved him: saved him moreover at the 
cost of her prosperity. The acquisition of the patent 
spelt monopoly: he might regard the purchase as a 
loan ; but obligation still remained. 

His gaze sought Mary perplexedly. She was con- 
fronting him with an expression which he found hard 
of comprehension. 

“This is a most difficult thing to accept.” 

His face was puckered whimsically. A ghost of a 
smile hovered on the powerful features. The young 
woman opposite wore so stern an aspect. There was 
no gracefulness about her : uncompromisingly she had 
fulfilled the demands of justice. 

“There’s no question about accepting anything. 
The patent was yours, and I’ve prevented one of my 


CONFLICT 


235 


employees robbing you. 
for.” 


There’s nothing to be grateful 


“All the same, I’m in a very different position to 
where I was an hour ago.” Cuvier paused a moment : 
“and so are you. Have you realised what this patent 
means to the firm which holds it?” 

Mary’s eyes flashed one answering look : into it was 
compressed a good deal. 

“You seem to think I’m an amateur in business, 
Mr. Cuvier. I’d have closed with Reich on what he 
first brought you. Sanders went through everything 
with me. It’s a gold-mine.” 

“And yet you hand it over?” 

“If you’d been me, would you have bought out 
Sanders and stuck to it?” 

The contempt in Mary’s voice made Cuvier’s face 
flush. 

“Of course not, but ... I was under the impression 
you hadn’t a great opinion of me.” 

Mary preserved an austere silence. Grim humour 
woke in Cuvier’s eyes. 

“That you regarded me as a hopeless flaneur, a 
corrupter of morals, a too philosophic observer and 
experiencer of life.” 

“I regard you as a man without honour, I admit.” 

The words lashed back. For all his calm, they 
stung. Cuvier lifted his head with a rather ugly look. 

“I beg your pardon.” 

Mary’s face was quite white; out of it, her eyes 
regarded him resistlessly, pools of liquid fire. Her 
voice came in dry clipped accents, from which all 
emotion was erased by the very depth of her intensity. 

“You are punctilious about accepting the fulfil- 
ment of a moral obligation, Mr. Cuvier. Your chivalry 
prevents you, I suppose, even though there was no 
possible course open to me as an honourable business 
woman except to place this patent in your hands. 
It isn’t your honour that’s making me keep my trust. 


236 


CONFLICT 


It’s mine. And it’s just because I despise you, that 
I was all the more anxious to wash my hands of any 
stain that had been brought there through one of my 
servants wronging you.” 

“Supposing I refuse to accept your gift?” 

“You can hand it over to Sanders, if you like. He 
would be the only one to benefit. He has nothing 
now to do with Berryfield's.” 

Cuvier bit his lips. It was the most ridiculous 
impasse. Common-sense told him refusal was im- 
possible, yet self-respect resented the girl's attitude. 
So might a contemptuous goddess have tossed a for- 
tune to a leper. 

“There is nothing more to say, I think. Any fur- 
ther communications, if they are necessary, can be 
made through your lawyer. Good-morning.” 

Mary had turned towards the door with the air of 
one who shook the dust off her feet, resolutely and 
for ever. 

“One moment!” 

Mary stopped, arrested by the tone. 

“One moment, please! In justice to me, you must 
tell me what is the reason of your irreconcilable 
attitude towards me. How have I transgressed against 
you ?” 

“I disapprove of you.” 

Cuvier took his cigar out of his mouth and leant 
back imperturbably. 

“Disapprove of me? But one must take people as 
one finds them. I have never forced my views of 
life on you. I have respected your confidence on the 
rare occasions when you have reposed it in me. I 
admit I was severe on you an hour or two ago, but I 
am sure you will have the fairness to admit the cir- 
cumstances seemed to justify me.” 

“What does it matter what I think of you?” 

“This. That I can't accept your generosity without 
some sort of recompense. I'm not speaking of the 


CONFLICT 


237 


money. Of course that will be refunded to you. 
But I am referring to your generosity of motive. 
Now don t stop being generous. Let us make a deal 
together. Let us go shares in the patent.” 

It was a big offer; big as the man who made it. 
For one moment Mary’s cheeks flushed with over- 
whelming relief. Berryfield’s might still hold up its 
head. 

‘‘You are offering this ... in gratitude.” 

“In common equity. You’ve done a big thing for 
me. I don’t like being in your debt. I want to do 
some big thing for you. After all, you’re a woman. 
The obligation can’t be on my side! You must let 
me pay my debt.” 

“By letting me into the patent?” 

“That seems to me the only way.” 

“There is another way !” 

“Another ?” 

Mary clasped her hands; a sudden inspiration had 
come to her, one that solved the fear that had been 
haunting her behind the business strain. The honour 
of Berryfield’s was saved. The soul of a woman was 
still in danger. There are times when responsibilities 
conflict. 

Mary’s thoughts had flown to Mrs. Ellestree. If 
she might save her, so. She spoke resolutely 

“Promise me never to see Mrs. Ellestree again!” 

“Why, in Heaven’s name, not?” 

Mary gazed round the room, then brought her eyes 
back desperately to Cuvier. It was almost impossible 
to speak before his sneering presence; far, far more 
difficult than discussing business. Yet the sense of 
responsibility, which was so strong within her, pushed 
her forward. The words came in despair of compre- 
hension, yet unflinchingly. 

“She was happy before you knew her . . . you’ve 
spoilt her happiness. It doesn’t matter to you. You 
have your business, but she has nothing. And she is 


CONFLICT 


238 

good, I know she is good, and she'll never be happy 
unless she’s good. She’s not like Miss Benton. She’s 
so proud. You say you’ve been fair to me. You’ve 
been fair because 1 don’t attract you, and you’re too 
indifferent to want anything from me. But when you 
want a woman, you take, and take, and take! You 
want everything she has — her loyalty, her interest, 
her confidence, her whole affection ! All her thoughts 
and admiration must be yours ! And in return, you 
think it’s splendid payment if you just accept. Your 
self remains your own, you won’t give a little bit of it 
away !” 

Quivering, raw, the words seemed still to vibrate 
through the atmosphere, though the speaker had 
stopped half-horrified at her daring, half-defiant of the 
consequences. 

Rage at the girl’s presumption dominated Cuvier, 
yet under his pride’s quick response something nobler 
had been touched. The courage which had forced 
the words forth, the devotion which rang in every 
accent, held his notice. His first impulse had been to 
order Mary from the room. His second, to answer 
cynically. When he spoke, he found he was defending 
himself. 

“I am not going to discuss my relations with any- 
body, Miss van Heyten. Let me point out that no 
one can determine what constitutes right or wrong for 
any living soul except themselves. Every one must 
form his own standard. What I feel for Mrs. Elles- 
tree is a matter which concerns only her and me; 
when you have lived longer and seen more, you will 
know how impossible it is for you to govern people 
according to your ideas of what is right.” 

The last words stung a little. In spite of his philos- 
ophy Cuvier felt antagonism to the slight figure 
which faced him so inflexibly. His words sounded 
false, even to himself,, against the knowledge which 
pricked within him. Mary could not know of his 


CONFLICT 


^39 

reply to Mrs. Ellestree’s communication or of her 
“express” answer. 

His conscience was supersensitive, he told himself. 

Yet before Mary’s eyes the angry feeling grew. He 
had lied, and she knew it. He lost his self-possession, 
fell to blustering. 

“You don’t pause to think how Mrs. Ellestree 
would like all this? Perhaps you think she would be 
grateful to you for making her out a fool. As a per- 
son who respects Mrs. Ellestree . . 

“Oh, don’t, don’t !” Piteously the words thrilled, 
hushed and anguished. “Think what women are to 
you ! It makes me sting with shame. Can’t women 
see? Can’t they feel how your mockery reflects on aM 
of them ? Don’t dare to say you respect Mrs. Elles- 
tree. You want to pull her down because she’s strong. 
You want to feel her master! And then, when you’re 
master, and your vanity is satisfied, and she has 
nothing more to give you, you will have won and the 
game will be finished . . . and she ... oh, she’ll be 
lost.” 

“You’re talking about things you’ve had no chance 
to know anything about !” 

“You can’t hurt me!” Mary’s head was raised. Her 
eyes rested on him with a divine personality rather 
than contempt. She no longer felt defiance; only the 
tragic sorrow of his power and purpose. “But you 
can hurt her. The awful thing is that she cares. Oh, 
if she could see you as I see you; if she could only 
see you as the poor, selfish and ignoble thing you are ! 
But she can’t. And she’s by herself. She has nothing 
to fill up your place, nothing to take hold of. She’s 
at your mercy. If you’ve any pity in you, think if 
you dare hurt her so.” 

Her heart was filled with a passion of love to Susan 
Ellestree. Pity of women filled her. Their helpless- 
ness ! Their helplessness ! Man had his work, but 
woman’s bread depended on him, her every reason of 


240 


CONFLICT 


existence. And man used his power for his own 
purposes; not as his trust. 

Cuvier did not answer. 

He had an unfortunate sense of justice which was 
stronger than his pride or selfishness, and on which 
Mary had not counted. Mary’s words had touched 
this sense. 

What was he taking from Mrs. Ellestree? Her 
whole life. 

What could he give her? A fragment of his in- 
terest. 

To be tied to her, share her lot, give up London, 
business, travel with her, make acquaintances with 
her, in short, live together, would be hell. Nothing 
would make him do it ; nothing would make him faith- 
ful either. 

Yet he was expecting her to give him all. That was 
the triumph and pleasure ; the security. To rest in 
illimitable devotion . . . for a week or two. It would 
mean nothing more. His nerves demanded rest for a 
few days ; then he must come back to fling himself 
into the struggle. Now that the patent was his, it 
must be put upon the market. Business would engross 
him utterly. 

A week’s rest. He would rest even better without 
Susan’s demand, her passionate demand, upon his 
interest. He was tired, and Susan was in love. His 
passion was appeased by this unexpected new pros- 
perity. His thoughts turned to the possibilities of this 
marvellous, all-conquering patent; it engulfed him, 
assuaging thirst, steadying his fever. 

Give u»p Mrs. Ellestree? He did not want her! It 
was not only easy to accede to Mary’s wish, it was a 
relief. 

He spoke without hesitation. 

“If the promise is of snoment to you I will g jive it.” 

“You will never see her?” 

“Not voluntarily. I will never speak to her.” 


CONFLICT 


241 


“Nor communicate with her in any way?” 
“Precisely. Do you desire to have it in writing?” 
An ugly humour lurked in Cuvier’s speech. 

Mary’s face showed no sign of appreciation. 

“Yes.” 

“You will put it to no . . . purpose?” 

“I shall show it to Mrs. Ellestree.” 

“Your methods are drastic, Miss van Heyten. In 
courtesy to Mrs. Ellestree, I must insist on writing to 
her to ... well, I can hardly say explain.” 

“I will do that.” 

“You?” 


“Write your letter. I will take it.” 

Cuvier’s gaze travelled over the Puritanical rigidity 
in front of him. He bent his head down and scribbled 
a line, carelessly. Then held it out, a smile curving 
his lips. 

“Do you want to read it?” 

There was a note of contempt in the lazy inflection. 
Mary drew herself up with dignity. 

“No, I take your word.” 

“I assure you it is a most effectual . . . closure!” 
Cuvier fluttered the paper in his hand, looking at the 
girl before him. 

“Do you intend to convey the news?” 

“I shall take her your letter.” 

“You are a brave woman.” 

Mary’s face was pale, her eyes burnt with the fire 
of martyrdom. 

“I must do it.” 

“You have all the heroic virtues! Well, there’s the 
paper. I thank you again. I suppose you would find 
it difficult to believe that I am acquiring an unwilling 
respect for you.” 

Mary did not trouble to reply. She went out 
blindly; one thought danced before her. She must 

go to Mrs. Ellestree. She had not quavered at the 
thought of plunging into the business battle ; but now 
16 


242 


CONFLICT 


her heart was faint. She saw Mrs. Ellestrees proud 
face, heard her dignified cold words. She trembled 
before the coming interview. Yet . . . she must go 
through with it. 

Duty is a cruel task-master. Its slave went miser- 
ably forward. 


CHAPTER XXI 


“ I played for life, a little life, and now— 

Come Death ! 

There is no life for me.” 

Frederick Fenn, A masts. 

“Mary !” 

Mrs. Ellestree had opened the door. She was 
veiled and hatted ; within the open bedroom-door boxes 
were piled up, strapped and ready. 

“What do you want?” 

Mrs. Ellestree was in her most formidable mood. 
Cold and dignified, she held open the door, regarding 
Mary as she might have regarded some officious inter- 
loper trying to force a way into her privacy. 

“I must see you.” 

“I am afraid I am just going.” 

“I have a letter for you.” 

“For me?” 

The woman paled, some warning instinct touched 
her. She stood with her eyes fixed on the girl, no 
softness in them now. Susan Ellestree had burnt her 
boats, honesty prevented her from making any bid for 
Mary’s love. It must go with the wreckage. 

“I wont keep you long.” 

Mrs. Ellestree led the way into the sitting-room. 
There was a strange look about it, the book-shelves 
had gaps in them, a couple of Mrs. Ellestree’s favourite 
prints, birthday-gifts from Ferroll, were missing. 

*43 


244 


CONFLICT 


These things struck the girl’s notice indistinctly, she 
was conscious of a vague discomfort. 

“Well?” 

Mrs. Ellestree was fronting her uncompromisingly. 
Her dark blue travelling suit gave her a sober look. 
Mary experienced her original sense of disadvantage 
before this perfectly appointed woman of the world. 
If Mary’s line of conduct had seemed presumptuous 
in Cuvier’s office, how much more did it appear so in 
Mrs. Ellestree’s actual presence. 

The girl whom Mr. Berryfield had trusted had 
more than the usual courage, however ; there could be 
no question as to the wisdom or the justice of her 
course of action. 

“I am sorry to have to keep you; I must explain 
that Berryfield’s belongs to me.” 

“Berryfield’s !” 

The information was so unexpected that Mrs. 
Ellestree lost her composure. 

“Mr. Berryfield left everything to me.” 

“And you concealed it!” 

Mrs. Ellestree stared at the girl in stupefaction. 
Mary was an heiress, of wealth and of importance! 
The revelation was preposterous. 

“Why did you hide the fact?” 

“My lawyer advised it for business reasons.” 

Again the room seemed to have become of 
cramped dimensions, too small to hold this expanding 
personality. 

A sense of annoyance, of foolish condescension, of 
absurd patronage came over Mrs. Ellestree. She had 
been kind to Mary, had given her presents of frocks 
and hats, had bought her gloves, shoes, trinkets; had 
tried to train her into eligibility, and all the time she 
had been benefitting a personage, one who concealed 
her identity for “business reasons.” 

The position of omnipotence which Mrs. Ellestree 


CONFLICT 


245 


had assumed with Mary had faded utterly. It was 
not only that Mrs. Ellestree did not like to be made 
to feel of secondary importance. She had imagined 
she possessed Mary’s entire confidence, that she filled 
Mary’s horizon, shedding a wise and benign influence 
over Mary’s whole scheme of life. That Mary had 
kept all that was vital from her, wounded her to the 
heart. 

Mary’s defection had hurt her, this revelation struck 
chill to her soul. 

Poor Susan Ellestree! Bitterly she was to learn 
the lesson of humanity’s aloofness. Ties are so soon 
broken. Ferroll had leant upon her once, he stood 
alone. She had bent down to succour Mary, and 
Mary had been hiding a magic weapon all the time! 
Only Cuvier needed her ; if he did not . . . ! 

She spoke feverishly, choking back the sick fear in 
her heart. 

“So you stayed in my house in a false position, 
keeping me in ignorance of your identity ? Do you call 
that honest?” 

“I did not think of it in that light.” 

Mary’s fingers closed more tightly on the letter. Her 
mission was harder than she had anticipated. 

“I should have told you when I left, if you had not 
known Mr. Cuvier.” 

“I fail to see how my acquaintance with Mr. Cuvier 
concerns you.” 

“He is our biggest rival. My firm and his have 
been engaged in a great struggle. While I have 
been ill, my manager has been acting dishonestdly. I 
overheard something on the night when Mr. Cuvier 
returned to town which made it essential that I 
should go back to look into things. I found that 
Mr. Cuvier had been unfairly treated. I had to 
put things right. I have put things right. Mr. 
Cuvier thought he had lost a patent on which 


CONFLICT 


246 

he had built his hopes. I have secured it for 
him.” 

“I hope Mr. Cuvier is grateful !” 

Mary’s previous disclosure had hurt Mrs. Ellestree ; 
her last words whipped her jealousy to madness. 
Mary was Cuvier’s rival; Mary had put things right 
for him! Mary was out on the great battle-ground 
where in her heart of hearts she knew Cuvier’s chief 
interests centered. Mary knew him there, fought with 
him, rendered service to him ! 

Memory flashed back to that night when he had left 
her waiting, forgotten. The syren’s voice had called 
to Mary too. Both Cuvier and she had obeyed its 
summons; both had deserted Mrs. Ellestree to fight 
together. She had been out of it! More, this loss 
of his had been readjusted. Mary had removed the 
“difficulties” of which in a rare moment of expansion, 
he had written. He would no longer need her com- 
forting, no longer crave, dispirited and ruined, for the 
solace of her presence. 

Steel-like, Mrs. Ellestree’s eyes rested on the girl. 
She to have done Cuvier a service! This provincial 
typist whom Mrs. Ellestree’s training had shaped into 
some fair semblance of womanhood ! 

In that one blinding moment, her love for Mary 
utterly departed. She saw in her the apotheosis 
of successful independence. This unattractive, inex- 
perienced girl, who wanted nothing from Cuvier, for 
whom Cuvier cared nothing, had been of use to 
him: was of consequence in his eyes; while she had 
no power ; while she did not even know of his dangers 
or understand his all absorbing business. 

She had known how slight a part love of women 
played in his full life: she had never realised how 
slight till she was face to face with the girl who had 
met Cuvier on man’s ground. 

The sneer came from pale lips ; it fell futilely. 


CONFLICT 247 

“Yes, he is very grateful. He ... he asked me to 
let him repay me/’ 

Mary’s voice was failing. The passion in Mrs. 
Ellestree’s eyes unnerved her. She held out the letter 
blindly. 

“ I asked him ... to give me . . . this . . .” 

“For me?” 

Mrs. Ellestree looked at the inscription stupidly. 
She knew . . . before she opened it. Something 
gripped at her heart; a fear so numbing that she 
dare not open the folded scrap of paper which 
held . . . what? 

Something terrible. She knew it. 

“What is in it?” 

The words came in a husky whisper. Mary, look- 
ing at the woman’s face, began to tremble in her 
certainty. There was fear in Mrs. Ellestree’s eyes — 
terrific, blinding fear. She temporised weakly. 

“I haven’t seen.” 

“But you know. You asked him . . . tell me.” 

Mary pressed her hand hard upon the table. She 
could not look at Mrs. Ellestree. It is not easy to 
deal forth a death sentence. 

“He has promised me he will never see you 
again.” 

With a quick tear Mrs. Ellestree ripped the envelope 
apart, the paper trembled in her hand. She held it 
steady with the other, and read. 

There was silence. Then the paper fluttered out 
of Mrs. Ellestree’s grasp. She stood there motionless, 
seeing, hearing nothing. 

“ ‘I have promised Miss van Heyten never to see 
you again. She has decreed I must so pay a debt of 
honour. Youth has judged us with its usual intol- 
erance.’ ” 

Banishment was not enough; he must laugh; he 
could laugh. “Some day he will send his secretary:” 


248 


CONFLICT 


not his secretary — a girl instead. Her niece, her 
protegee , her worshipper. 

He owed a debt, and paid it by putting her out of 
his life as he had put the others from it, with as little 
feeling. And his decision was irrevocable. She knew 
that from the wording. He sacrificed her callously, 
to pay a debt of honour to Mary! Mary had exacted 
that as payment. Mary ! 

With a cry as of a wounded beast she turned upon 
her. 

“How dared you do this?” 

Flaming-eyed, she towered above the girl, majestic 
in her fury — lost to all sense but one of searing rage 
against the girl who had dared to step between her 
and her so-long- waited, so hardly-hoped-for joy. 

All her life had been one waiting: and now r when 
consummation was within an hour’s attainment it had 
been snatched from her by another woman. A woman 
of the class whom she despised and hated : the woman 
who worked side by side with man, to whom he paid his 
debts of honour as to man ; the woman who had her 
own life, her independence. She, the woman who 
had lived her life for man, was set aside for the 
woman who walked free, meeting his eyes fairly ; set- 
ting no traps to capture him. 

Susan Ellestree had professed contempt of working 
women all her life. She knew now why she hated 
them. 

By his senses man may be befooled and lured to 
capture; but man has another side which recognises 
brave qualities irrespective of sex. Honesty, valour, 
austere justice command his respect in woman as in 
man. 

How dared she? Mary was to ask that question of 
herself through many days to come. 

Her heart bled for the other woman’s pain, but she 
adhered strenuously to her code. It hurt her to the 


CONFLICT 


249 


soul to deal forth righteousness, but duty held her. 
Of women like Mary are martyrs made. 

“You are married. You must not love him. It is 
wrong.” 

“Must not . . . Wrong . . . Say those words to 
the God Who made us, Who drew me to him, Who 
created joy for me in him and him alone — and you 
have taken it from me before I even held it !” 

The cry was terrifying in its anguish. Mary shrank 
back, feeling as though she had been guilty of some 
gross, unwitting cruelty. She made her excuse 
trembling. The universe was tottering. Was not 
right, right? It must be. 

“It was wicked !” 

“My God, who are you to judge what is wicked? 
You who know nothing . . . nothing ... You who 
have never felt a man’s arms round you — who have 
never fired the blood of any man — who have no sense 
of womanhood ! You have dared to take him from 
me, when he had sent for me. I was going to him 
now, this moment. We were to have left to-night for 
Italy, and love, and joy: all that I have thirsted for. 
Oh, God, why was I brought into the world if not to 
live — to live !” 

Passion wracked her ; with a moan in which anguish 
concentrated and grew faint with intensity, Susan 
Ellestree leant against the mantlepiece, pressing her 
head down on her arms. She had no dignity; even 
her anger was overwhelmed by the tide of desolation. 
He had gone from her life. She knew that he had 
gone. And with him went life also. 

“You would have been wretched afterwards!” 

Conviction shook before this depth of anguish. The 
words faltered forth ; they were not heard. 

“If I could but have yielded . . . and have died. 
But to have never felt his mastery. Oh, if I had 
known I might have held him then . . . and I sent 


250 


CONFLICT 


him away . . . because of my pride! Oh, what is 
pride? What happiness does it hold? It only hin- 
ders. When man calls and Nature cries. ‘Obey, he 
is your mate, the other self for whom you have been 
lonely since you came into the world, for whom your 
soul and body starves — obey — obey! Though he leave 
you, obey! Though he wants you for a moment, obey 
and thank God that he thirsted for you, thank God you 
were born to slake his thirst/ ” 

The wild cry pierced the air. The woman raised 
her head, her hands outstretched. London, Society, 
all the mask of civilisation had gone. Primeval woman 
of the forest and the mountains, stood in an arid des- 
ert crying for her mate. 

“And I denied him ! He would have taken me, and 
I denied him. I dared to bargain, insisting on more 
than he, my master, wished to give! I dared to stop 
to bargain, and so I have got nothing. He throws 
me off, he uses me to pay his debt to a ghost. Yes, 
a ghost. You are only that. You have no blood in 
you. You have only purity! We were not born into 
the world to keep our chastity; we were born to live 
and to make live. To create! It is our only end! 
And when the man comes who should create with us, 
if we are kept from him, our life is useless. If we are 
kept from him, we die without our birth-right . . . 
birth-right !” 

The woman collapsed against the wall, her hands 
fell to her side. Her face stared forward. The words 
thrilled through the silence. 

Mary had leant upon the table ; her heart was beat- 
ing with tragic quickness. She was paralysed by the 
depth of passion that had been suddenly revealed — 
raw, elemental, hideous. 

For Mrs. Ellestree to feel like that! Mrs. Elles- 
tree — the woman who had preached wisdom to her, 
the woman whose chief occupation was the dainty 


CONFLICT 


251 


keeping of her beauty. This was a savage woman, 
lost to all sense of restraint or decency. A woman 
who was helpless, yet who repelled compassion. 

“I thought that I was helping you. I did it be- 
cause I loved you. I put you before Berryfield’s 
. . . before my trust. I ought to have let Mr. fcuvier 
help me there. But I put you first. You are so much 
to me.” 

The girl had broken down, she was crying piteously. 
She had lifted her little strength up to help the woman 
who had helped her, and to whom innumerable ties of 
love and gratitude still bound her; and she had blun- 
dered tragically, bringing the whole world about the 
woman’s head, crushing her, annihilating. 

She had felt secure in her own intelligence and 
judgment, more than all in her perception of right 
and wrong. Now her beliefs rocked. She was at 
sea. It seemed to her in this blinding moment that 
she had never had the right to decide what was good 
or bad for Susan Ellestree, and a thousand times less 
right to use the power which chance and circumstance 
had given her, and take from this woman that for 
which her soul and body longed. 

She had used her power with arrogance. She had 
arrogated to herself the altering of Susan’s destiny. 
She had made cruel use of Susan’s helplessness. 

In that instant Mary saw herself as Susan saw, and 
shrank in horror from the picture. 

She was crying in an agony of penitence. The all- 
conquering Mary was no more. A girl knelt by Mrs. 
Ellestree, sobbing piteously, longing to comfort, help- 
less . . . helpless. 

Oh, the bitterness of having judged too hardly! 
Oh, the bitterness of having signed a death-warrant — 
of realising its irretrievability. 

Nothing could undo what she had done. Somehow 
Mary knew that she had put Cuvier from Mrs. Elies- 


252 CONFLICT 

tree’s life for ever. She had acted, and nothing could 
undo the act. 

Mrs. Ellestree had stood for a long time. It might 
have been hours or minutes. To Mary the silence 
had lasted an eternity. She touched the woman’s 
hand tremblingly. 

‘T did it because I loved you. Oh, believe 
that !” 

“You . . . you — oh, yes !” 

Mrs. Ellestree turned heavy eyes on Mary, her face 
was haggard. Great lines ploughed it from brow to 
chin. She stared at the girl, only half-comprehending 
the meaning of her presence. 

Everything was blotted out, but the one fact of her 
desolation. 

“Yes, you meant to do right. You did not under- 
stand, how should you?” 

Even in this moment a sense of justice actuated 
Mrs. Ellestree; she spoke haltingly. 

“I don’t know what I have been saying. Did I 
hurt you ? I hope not. I loved you very much 
once.” 

“You didn’t mean what you said about . . . not 

living?” 

“Living? There is nothing to live for, dear.” 

The speech came quietly; Mrs. Ellestree still leant 
against the mantelpiece in complete lassitude. Her 
look was fixed on space. She was barely conscious; 
her voice came mechanically. 

A sudden terror seized the watcher. She could not 
see such suffering. She wanted to shut out the sight — 
to get away from the dull room into which the evening 
shadows were creeping — out into the fresh air with 
human life about her. 

Scarcely conscious of her own intention, Mary 
found herself on her feet. 

“You are certain I can do nothing?” 


CONFLICT 253 

“You have done a great deal. Oh, you have shown 
your power.” 

With a low cry, Mrs. Ellestree rested her head on 
her arms. She stood, her shoulders bowed, quite 
helpless. 

So fierce a revulsion seized the girl, she was con- 
scious of nothing but hatred of herself. She must 
undo the wrong. Let morality go to the four winds 
of Heaven ! Let right go ! Susan must drink the 
draught — and die. 

Not die — starving — hungering — unfulfilled ! 


CHAPTER XXII 


“ It is so that a woman loves who is 


worthy of heroes.” 

R. L. S. 


“She is going to kill herself/' 

A white-faced girl stood on the flags of the Inn. 

“She is going to kill herself.” 

Her brain repeated the words mechanically. The 
thought obliterated everything. The sound of those 
dreadful sobs was with her still; to her dying day it 
would stay with her. 

She turned her back on the grim building. In a 
room high up, a woman stood, her head bowed on her 
arms, great sobs tearing her. She would be there still, 
neither moving nor hearing, lost to every sense but 
that of anguish. Or would she be there? Would she 
be moving, dry-eyed, to ... to what? Her fruitless 
life was finished ; she had said it. 

The girl made a step or two forward ; then halted 
irresolutely. She dare not leave the woman to the 
fate which threatened. Yet she dared not go back, 
Susan’s tortured cry kept with her. What right had 
she to hurt any human being as she had hurt Mrs. 
Ellestree ? 

She looked at the people hurrying past, each a 
living centre, radiating and creating life. A touch; 
and any of those moving bodies might be stilled into 
eternal silence. She dared not even indirectly be the 
cause, of closing life’s door on so bounteous and gen- 
erous a nature as Susan Ellestree’s. No matter what 
the cost, she must release Cuvier from his promise. 
254 


CONFLICT 


255 


Dimly Mary was beginning to realise that no man 
may judge his fellows; no man may use the force of 
circumstances to coerce them into the ways that he 
thinks well for them to travel. 

The Law Courts’ clock clanged through the air. 
Mary counted the strokes with a shock. It was seven 
o’clock. She must hurry to Cuvier’s office, if she 
would find him. 

A premonition of failure accompanied her on her 
journey: it was accurate. When she reached his 
office the last clerk was going. Mr. Cuvier had left; 
gone out of town; the only person who knew his 
whereabouts would be Mr. Cobb. She got into the 
cab again and gave the address which had been fur- 
nished. A chill wind was springing up, wet with 
rain. The drops came in her face as the hansom sped 
onwards. 

Shaftsbury Avenue gleamed in the lamp-light. 
She ascended the cheerless flight of stairs to meet a 
caretaker upon the landing. It was Mr. Cobb’s nightly 
custom to go out for his dinner. She admitted Mary 
grudgingly. 

The clock chimed eight as Mary entered the small 
sitting-room. Her breath came quickly ; she felt an 
unpleasant sense of intrusion coming like this, un- 
invited and unexpected, into Cobb’s private domicile. 
As she looked around her, the feeling grew. The 
room was so characteristic. In it, it was plain, were 
all his household gods ; his father’s sword slung 
across the mantelpiece, one side of the room well lined 
with books — sober-looking volumes for the most part 
— his slippers sprawling on the hearth-rug, his pipe 
upon the mantelpiece. 

There were no flowers, photographs, pictures. It 
was the room of a lonely man. 

The clock ticked on: nine sounded. Mary was 
faint from want of food. Half-past, and still she 
waited. The fingers neared the hour. She heard the 


CONFLICT 


256 

click of the latch-key, some one was taking off his 
overcoat in the outer hall ; then Hayden Cobb con- 
fronted his amazed visitor. 

Mary’s cheeks flamed. Suddenly, self-conscious- 
ness rushed over her. She was alone in a bachelor’s 
flat at ten of the night, alone with a strange young 
man who was embarrassed by her presence — worse, 
resented it. It seemed as if she were eternally pur- 
suing Cobb. 

She found her voice with difficulty. “I have come 
for Mr. Cuvier’s address. I went to the office, they 
told me you would have it.” 

“Why didn’t they telephone up to his house ?” 

The harsh common-sense of the query made her 
cheeks burn more hotly. 

“They didn’t think, nor did I. It was so important 
I had to come and wait ...” 

“Have you been here long ?” 

“I don’t know. I started for the office at seven and 
came straight here.” 

“Haven’t you had any dinner?” 

“No. I suppose not. Please give me Mr. Cuvier’s 
address.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t.” 

“They said you would know.” 

Cobb’s mouth shut inexorably. “I know right 
enough.” 

“But you won’t tell me.” 

Mary’s patience was becoming exhausted. The 
long wait had preyed upon her powers of endurance 
and she was faint for the want of food. Cobb’s im- 
movability oppressed her with a sense of physical 
fatigue. She felt she could scarcely trouble to argue 
with him. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Mr. Cuvier left orders I was to give no one his 
address.” 


CONFLICT 


257 


“But I must have it. He would be the first to say 
I must. He will never forgive you if you don’t give 
it to me.” 

Despair shot up a last illuminating flame. 

Mr. Cobb put his hands in his pockets and surveyed 
the carpet. 

“You are not going to?” 

“No. He’s gone away for a complete rest. I can’t 
let him be annoyed, by any one.” 

Mary took a deep breath; then she approached the 
table, and stood behind it looking at her companion. 
She did not feel she could take Cobb into her confi- 
dence ; his brusque reserve repelled sympathy. Yet she 
must impress her need upon him. 

“If I do not get his address from you and send to 
him to-night, a woman may kill herself!” 

The statement did not produce the desired effect; 
to be strictly accurate, it produced no effect at all. 
Cobb’s experience as Mr. Cuvier’s secretary had led 
him to a cynical appraisement of such threats. 

He continued his survey of the carpet without he- 
sponse. He did not like Mary being mixed up with 
one of Cuvier’s unsavoury “affairs.” 

He had not forgiven her for her appearance of 
sympathy and subsequent betrayal ; the memory of it 
closed his heart to her. He did not feel a very active 
resentment; he expected too little from the world. 
But Mary’s revelations had torn his romance from the 
roots. The girl whom he had pitied for her loneliness, 
for whom he had longed to make a home and to take 
care of, was the head of Berryfield’s, an astute, keen, 
business woman, who had availed herself of his belief 
to benefit her firm. He believed she had been 
actuated by pride in the honour of that firm, but that 
did not make his mistake the less bitter, nor his loss 
the less poignant. 

The friendless girl had begun to occupy a very im- 
portant part in his life. She had gone, and in her 
17 


258 


CONFLICT 


place a capable, hard-headed, rich and powerful young 
woman, her purpose achieved, turned indifferent eyes 
upon him. 

The worst of it was that he could not entirely over- 
come the feeling of protection which Mary had in- 
spired in him. Her appealing eyes made his heart 
prick foolishly. He was conscious of an absurd long- 
ing to put her into the big arm-chair and send out for 
some dinner for her. 

The purport of her visit was irrelevant. The point 
was that she was there in his own room, and had had 
no dinner. What would she say if he came over to her 
and took her in his arms, and . . . 

"‘Why don’t you answer me? Did you hear what 
I said? It is a matter of life or death. She will kill 
herself.” 

A heavy wave of hair was parted on one side, 
boyishly : ‘it hung over her brow in a weary fashion. 
She had raised her hand and was pushing it back, 
showing the white forehead. He loved the trick. 

“What is the matter with you? You don’t seem as 
if you’re listening.” She slipped past the table and 
stood close up to him, looking into his face with burn- 
ing intensity. “She will kill herself. Do you under- 
stand that ?” 

“Oh, no, she won’t.” 

He had to pull himself together now. Mary was 
not a yard from him; he almost touched her. A 
step forward and the serious anguished little face 
would be hidden against his shoulder, while his arms 
closed round her, never to let her go again, Berry- 
field’s or not. She was here at his mercy. Outside, 
the world might part them; in his rooms she was 
powerless. 

“What do you say that for?” 

“I don’t know what I’m saying.” Cobb’s voice came 
hoarsely. He turned round with a wrench and threw 
the window open. 


CONFLICT 


259 


“But you are mad . . . mad . . . mad!” Mary’s 
gaze sought the rigid figure desperately. “Oh, what 
shall I do? I must get at Mr. Cuvier. Listen, 
please! It is for Mrs. Ellestree. They were going 
away together. I asked Mr. Cuvier to give her up in 
payment for my help: he agreed. I had no right to 
interfere. She will kill herself! Do you hear? If we 
cannot find him she will kill herself, and it will be I 
who will have done it.” 

The air had cooled Cobb’s fevered brain. The grief 
in the girl’s voice pierced through to his comprehen- 
sion. He turned, again himself. 

“What do you want to do ? Send for Mr. Cuvier ?” 

“Yes.” 

“To come back to her?” 

“Yes. Oh, I know what you are thinking. I can’t 
help it. I haven’t the right to take her life.” 

“I haven’t the right to worry Mr. Cuvier. I’m sorry 
to have to seem brutal, but it isn’t the first time, un- 
fortunately, that I have been approached for his ad- 
dress — for the same purpose — with the same threat. 
Mr. Cuvier trusts me not to give it.” 

“But ... for Mrs. Ellestree !” 

Cobb tightened his lips somewhat uneasily. He did 
not like to tell Mary there had been women whose 
claims on Cuvier had been far more imperative. 

“You will not?” 

Mary read his answer in his eyes. She did not at- 
tempt further protest : she turned away too sick at 
heart to combat further. 

“Where are you going now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You must know.” 

Mary rested against the door, her eyes met his 
blankly. She did not know. She had failed to reach 
Cuvier. 

“To Mrs. Ellestree?” 

“She wouldn’t have me.” 


26 o 


CONFLICT 


“To the hotel, then?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Cobb’s anger melted. Now at least business schemes 
did not actuate her. She was only a terrified girl, face 
to face with life’s most tragic problems, lamentably 
unable to master them. 

“Is Mrs. Ellestree alone?” 

“Yes.” 

“You say she is very cut up?” 

“She is going to kill herself.” 

“Oh, nonsense. They all say that. Really I’ve heard 
women say that, with far more reason than Mrs. Elles- 
tree; women who have gone away with Mr. Cuvier, 
and whom he’s left — and they’re all alive, every one of 
them. Don’t you worry about Mrs. Ellestree.” 

“You don’t know her. She’s not like wicked women. 
If anything dreadful happens, I, and only I, shall be 
the cause!” 

“That’s absurd. It isn’t fair to load a girl with such 
responsibility. Mrs. Ellestree ought to be able to take 
care of herself. You acted rightly and she’ll thank 
you for it when she’s calmer.” 

“If she lives.” 

“Hasn’t she any friends beside you?” 

“There’s Miss Benton ...” 

“Good. She’s staying at the 'Cecil.’ I saw her 
name in their visitors’ book to-day. Come along. 
We’ll get down there and send her to take care of Mrs. 
Ellestree. It isn’t work for you. You wouldn’t let me 
take you to have some supper first ?” 

“Oh, no . . . no . . . let’s find Rosalys. You are 
certain you couldn’t send to Mr. Cuvier?” 

Cobb had to resist another frantic inclination to 
seize the helpless litle figure and shut out the torturing 
responsibilities. He rammed his hands into his pock- 
ets and spoke resolutely. 

“You’d be sorry if I told you, believe me. If you 
can only stand firm through this, you’ll come out on 


CONFLICT 


261 


top with Mrs. Ellestree. Besides, I stand for Mr. 
Cuvier. How do you think I feel about him ? Do you 
think it doesn't hurt me? When I can I keep these 
women from him. He’s gone off now to pull himself 
together, so that he can come back clear-headed and 
with all his strength to launch that process on the 
market. I’m not going to lift a finger to embroil him 
in another miserable entanglement, not for any 
woman’s sake, even yours. It does him no good : and 
it most certainly does no one else any good. But I’d 
like to help you, and if you’d feel easier in your mind 
if Mrs. Ellestree had some one with her, I’ll take you 
to the "Cecil’ right away.” 

"‘All right, then.” 

Mary was too tired to maintain her independence. 
She turned instinctively to Hayden Cobb’s protecting 
shelter : his plain hard sense was a relief after strenuous 
errfotion. At the sound of his voice life took on its nor- 
mal perspective. She 110 longer trembled on the verge 
of dizzying, engulfing precipices. 

They spoke little as they speeded to the ‘Cecil.’ 
Mrs. Ellestree’s peril usurped all considerations in 
Mary’s mind. Cobb had enough to do to fight 
back the instinct which drew him irresistibly to 
Mary. This afternoon both would have sworn it 
was impossible that they could ever meet on friendly 
terms again, and yet here they sat in the same 
hansom, not only actuated by a common interest, 
but in their old relationship. Yet an immeasurable 
gulf stretched between them now. Mary was the 
head of Berryfield’s, and he was bound by every tie 
of allegiance to her rival. All his strength and 
energies must be devoted to Cuvier’s service, and 
directed against the girl whom his heart longed to 
cherish and protect. It was not an easy situation ; 
a very difficult one for a loyal person, when the girl 
he loved leaned beside him — tired, over-wrought and 
lonely. 


2 62 CONFLICT 

Cobb felt relief when the cab drew up in the hotel 
courtyard. 

His fortitude was to be tried still further. Rosalys 
was in, and full of ready sympathy. She accompanied 
them forthwith to Clement’s Inn ; there they discovered 
an empty flat. Mrs. Ellestree had gone. Her boxes 
stood packed and corded. She must have walked 
out in the things she stood up in; nothing had been 
taken. 

Even Cobb’s composure shook; it was evident that 
Mary’s fears had not been as unfounded as he had 
imagined. Yet he refused to give Cuvier’s address : 
Cuvier could do nothing, and even if he could, he 
had left Cobb to keep his place of retreat guarded. 
Though it was Mary who pleaded, Cobb would not 
let his personal feelings over-ride his responsibility to 
Cuvier. This time there should be no entry through his 
guard. 

Yet his sense of duty was to be rewarded. As they 
reached Mary’s hotel, she broke the silence generously. 
The sight of the stern young profile beside her 
moved her to understanding. She also served hard 
masters. 

“I do not bear you any ill-will for not telling me. 
I see that you are right to think of Mr. Cuvier 
first.” 

Mary’s brows were knit in her attempt to dispense 
justice; she turned an earnest face to him. 

“You are quite right,” she repeated. “And it is 
wonderful of you to have troubled to come with me, 
after I betrayed your confidence. I can’t understand 
how you can be so kind; even when Mr. Cuvier said 
those dreadful things, you stood by me.” 

“I couldn’t very well do anything else. A man 
doesn’t reproach a woman when he’s fallen through his 
own weakness. I had no business to tell you Mr. 
Cuvier’s secrets. It wasn’t your fault, you were natur- 
ally keen on setting Berryfield’s right.” 


CONFLICT 263 

“But you don’t think I pretended to be sorry for 
you?” Mary questioned passionately. 

Cobb shut his lips in his usual restrained manner. 

“You don’t think I was trying to trick you into let- 
ting out things?” 

“I’m sure you didn’t think of it in that way. I don’t 
think you thought at all.” 

“No,” Mary acquiesced miserably. “I suppose I 
didn’t. Yes, I did, though. I knew you wouldn’t tell 
me a word if you knew who I was. You wouldn’t 
have let me help Mr. Cuvier because I’m a woman — 
would you?” 

“Men don’t usually take help from women in busi- 
ness matters,” said Cobb. His heart was sore at the 
memory of other confessions than purely business 
ones. 

“I suppose you will never believe I really cared for 
your troubles.” 

“Oh, I don’t matter.” 

“It’s so difficult to say . . . that . . . you do.” 

Honesty is a dangerous companion. Mary had 
raised her eyes to Cobb’s. There was such desperate 
appeal in them that a stronger head than Cobb’s might 
easily have lost its balance. Before he could control 
himself he had answered. 

“Do you mean that? Do you mean you really 
care? No! Don’t answer. Because whatever you 
felt, I could never be free to ask you that. You know 
I’m bound to stay with Cuvier. And ... as I must 
work for him ... I mustn’t see you again.” 

“I thought business wasn’t to come . . . between 
us,” Mary adventured wildly. In that moment she had 
realised all that Cobb meant to her. His friendship, 
she told herself his friedship . . . that was all she 
wanted. To feel he was in the world, that she knew 
some one cared for her, some one in whom she trusted, 
whom she could look up to as she had looked up 
to Mr. Berryfield. So the flag of her pride came 


264 CONFLICT 

quivering down and she made her last bid without 
it. 

If it had been difficult to resist before it was one 
thousand times harder now. Hayden Cobb nerved 
himself for the last struggle. 

“Stop 1 . . .” he turned to Mary ; his hand closed on 
hers. 

“I didn’t know then,” said he. “You’re Berry- 
field’s. I’m against you. Business can’t be put out 
of our lives now. I’m on Cuvier’s side and I mustn’t 
see you again — ever — for when I’m with you I don’t 
know what I’m doing. You make me weak. It 
isn’t fair to Mr. Cuvier, and I owe him everything. 
You don’t know what I feel like — to think of you 
going back alone to fight us, especially now ... I 
can’t bear to think of what you’re up against. But I’m 
not free. If I were . . . well, I expect you know 
where I’d be. And if you ever want anything done 
that I cm do, anything that I’m free to do, it will be 
the only pleasure I can have now, if you’ll let me do it. 
I shan’t have any happiness in our success, and yet you 
see that I must onfy work for that, don’t you ?” 

Their eyes met. Then Mary raised her face, a won- 
derful smile upon it. Bravely, fearlessly, she looked 
up at him. 

“I’m so glad,” she said, “so glad you’re like that. 
Do you think I wouldn’t rather look up to you and 
honour you, even if I have to be alone ? I don’t mind 
telling you now that I look up to you. But I can go 
back, it makes me brave to know you care: it makes 
me happy. I shan’t be lonely even if I never see you 
again.” 

Cobb did not answer ; he was looking at her with a 
look that a woman should be proud to see in the eyes 
of any man, and most of all in the eyes of the man 
who loves her. 

There is greater love than the love whose name 
is passion. It is the love which frees; not the love 


CONFLICT 


265 


which captures, for of the things which make up this 
love, the first is trust, then come pride, belief, ambi- 
tion, ringing to the muster-roll. Pride, belief, ambi- 
tion — for the other as for one’s self. And yet a love 
which blots out all the world, which is strong as the 
most brutish passion, and which, denied, racks and 
tears as keenly as the worst abandonment. Only such 
lovers face the torture, standing with unflinching eyes 
and lips that smile. 

Cobb answered with queer inconsequence. 

“I knew it directly I saw you,” he said. 

The cab rattled into the street where Mary’s hotel 
was situated. 

“You promise me you’ll have some dinner. Can 
you get something now ? It’s nearly twelve.” 

“Yes, I will. I promise.” 

“And you’ll take care of yourself, because I want 
you to. You’ll think of that?” 

“Yes.” 

“And . . . you might send me a line now and then 
to say how you are.” 

“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.” 

“Why not?” Cobb’s hand closed over hers. 

“Because ... to tell you the truth ... it will be 
quite difficult enough without . . . being reminded.” 

The bravest hearts may break down occasionally. 

Mary pushed open the door as the cab stopped with 
a rattle and a jangle at the steps of her hotel. 

“Don’t come, please.” 

The slight figure ran up the steps and vanished into 
the hotel. 

“Where to, sir?” 

Cobb gave the direction mechanically. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


“ Love’s wine : ’tis but the dregs I quaff.” 

Frederick Fenn, A mast's. 

The artistic temperament is not prone to consider 
the convenience of other people. Ferroll possessed 
his full share of this quality. Conditions must always 
be arranged to suit circumstances. Pie had reduced 
the art of environment to a positive science, so much 
importance did he attach to the effect of atmosphere 
upon the emotions. This did not denote insincerity, 
but merely that he possessed the happy gift of being 
able to retire from his sentient self, and view it im- 
personally. 

Consequently, when he anticipated great moments 
in his life, he took steps to give them their fair chance 
of romance. 

Rosalys had sent to him at once, and they had spent 
a frantic week searching for his sister, but in vain. 
Mary had returned to Birmingham ; he had received a 
formal note, giving him her address in case he had 
news of Mrs. Ellestree. 

It had chilled him momentarily: as the days went 
on Mary’s strong and austere purity became more and 
more precious beside the easy endearments of Rosalys. 
In the flood of emotionalism which surrounded her and 
her fiance, he turned to the thought of Mary’s self- 
control. Her straightforward serious eyes called to 
all that was best in him. 

That she possessed riches and importance did not 
trouble him. It was the woman only who filled his 
266 


CONFLICT 


267 

vision ; her circumstances might lend additional 
piquancy to her independence, but they did not 
affect his point of view. He had been powerfully 
attracted by her personality at first sight, and the 
attraction grew instead of fading; she represented 
his ideals for himself, rather than his ideals for woman- 
hood. Fie hungered for self-control and unflinching 
strength ! 

He did not concern himself about her happiness 
or welfare, she only possessed interest in proportion 
to her effect on his life. Removed from it, he was 
conscious of deprivation. From missing her, he fell 
to wanting; from wanting, he felt he needed her. 
His mind being made up on this point, the next step 
with Ferroll was to supply his need. He did not feel 
his promise to Susan restricted him now that he was 
in earnest. He knew that Mary was the stronger of the 
two; she must help him to fulfil his highest possi- 
bilities. As for practical matters, Mary had money: 
the drag of poverty would not be theirs. Further than 
that, Ferroll cared little. Money was an absolute in- 
cident to him. His tastes were extremely simple: as 
long as he was fed and clothed, and in a sympathetic 
atmosphere, the outer trappings of “position” did not 
interest him. Personality was the only thing that 
counted in his calculations. He found Mary’s needful 
for his development. 

But he knew where his difficulty lay. It would be 
hard to convince her of his sincerity. 

Besides, the mystery surrounding Susan made 
pursuit of any other object seem indecent. The 
strain told on him in spite of his prediction to his 
sister. The Susan he had known had changed so 
confusingly. It was so extraordinary to think of 
Susan with interests of her own. He had rested 
safely in her temperate, cheerful wisdom, but that 
had gone. His theory of a journey was uncomfort- 
ably shaken. Could Susan have left the flat without 


268 


CONFLICT 


taking so much as a dressing bag? Unless . . . He 
could not face the thought. 

Yet when the suspense was put an end to, he knew 
that he had always thought the worst. Complex in- 
deed is the artistic temperament! In all the joy of his 
relief, he could also see the news as a tool for his 
endeavour towards Mary. 

He wired straightway summoning Mary to the flat. 
Where they had first met, he must see her to tell her 
the glad news of Susan’s safety : and then, in the soft- 
ened mood which relief must bring to her, he would 
tell her of his need and win her for his own. 

Unfortunately one may arrange ciscumstances, but 
it is more difficult to govern moods. 

Directly Mary entered, he felt an infinitesimal chill. 
She wore a dark serge frock which gave her a severe 
appearance, and there was a business-like composure 
in her demeanour which was unpromising. He realised 
with a touch of dismay that he was no longer facing 
an unsophisticated protegee of Susan’s. 

Her reply to his tender greeting struck coldly. 

“Of course I came, as the news was too bad to wire. 
I should like to hear everything, though. Don’t spare 
me, please.” 

She had sat down mechanically; her hands were 
folded in her lap. She looked up at him, white-faced 
and calm. Only her eyes showed how she was 
suffering. 

Ferroll’s panoply of preparation seemed suddenly 
absurd — worse than absurd, wilfully cruel. He held 
out a letter quickly. 

“It’s from her. She’s with Tom. She wants us to 
send her things.” 

“From her?” 

Mary held the letter, staring up at Ferroll : then her 
eyes travelled over it. 

“So she is in America?” 

“Yes. Did you ever hear such madness? Crossed 


CONFLICT 269 

to America with nothing but what she bought at 
Liverpool ! Why ?” 

“She says why. She felt she couldn’t see any of us 
again.” 

“But that doesn’t account for her taking none of her 
boxes, especially as they were all packed.” 

“I think it is quite easily explained. She didn’t 
think at all. She only wanted to get away.” 

Mary folded up the letter, her mouth was pursed up 
rather curiously. 

“It’s a tremendous relief, anyhow !” 

“Exactly. I am wondering why you didn’t wire. I 
can’t quite see the point of bringing me all this way, 
when you might have let me know hours sooner by a 
perfectly simple method.” 

Ferroll was determinedly romantic. Mary’s matter- 
of-fact, but unfortunately obvious, remark might have 
suppressed a less virile ardour. Her coldness spurred 
him on, however. The difficulties which were rising 
up gave him the required incentive. 

“I had to see you, and I wanted to see you here.” 

“Here?” 

“Yes : here where we first met. Do you remember?” 

Ferroll’s gaze was fixed on Mary in eager tender- 
ness. This composure was only an affectation : his 
desire must thrill her. Now that she was with him, 
his soul craved for the stimulant of her belief. Yes: 
he needed her : he was sure of himself. 

“Of course I remember.” Mary was looking at her 
watch. “I believe I can catch the 4.15. That means 
I must leave here in a quarter of an hour.” 

“Good heavens ! don’t talk of trains !” Ferroll 
broke out in a burst of petulance which made him 
smile himself. “I know I’m a fool, but you don’t 
know how it maddens me to see you sitting there as 
if — as if you’d got a typewriter in front of you. Be 
human, there’s a darling! Come.” Ferroll had de- 
posited himself ingratiatingly on the arm of her chair. 


270 


CONFLICT 


“Unfortunately, I must think of mundane things 
like trains ; you certainly won’t do it for me.” Mary 
could not resist a smile even in her soreness. There 
was something irresistible in Ferroll’s supreme egotism. 
He no longer held her captive, but she recognised his 
fascination. He was so trusting. 

“Except to keep you from them. Mary, dear, I’ve 
been thinking things over, and for the first time in my 
life I’m sure of myself. You can trust me now, you 
can, really. I need you more than I need any one in 
the world, even Susan. Will you risk it?” 

We have indicated that Ferroll had not met with 
many rebuffs in the course of a highly undeserving, 
but singularly fortunate, career. Now that he had 
arrived at a decisian, that for Mary’s companionship, 
it was worth abandoning his freedom, so much as an 
idea that she might not appreciate his sacrifice had 
never come into his mind. 

He had always won his desires, when he had pur- 
sued them. His better nature often held him back; 
more often than people gave him credit for, but he 
was not stopped by the chance of failure. 

Mary’s response came as a thunderbolt. 

“Risk marrying you?” 

The amazement in the question was not at Ferroll’s 
magnanimity. 

“Don’t you believe in me, Mary? You must! I’m 
in earnest. I’ve thought it all out. I love you for the 
best there is in you. I love you because you’re strong, 
and dependable, and good. It would be worth while 
being faithful to you, and if now and then I lapse — 
you’d understand how small the lapse was, and how 
little it affected my love for you. I wouldn’t ask you 
to trust yourself if I wasn’t sure.” 

Mary put her hand up to her head : was she 
indeed awake and on firm earth? Could Ferroll 
be saying such words, with every sign of honesty? 
Ferroll, who had gone from her with an appointment 


CONFLICT 


271 

on his lips, and kissed Rosalys ten minutes after! 
And he was talking about being “faithful !” 

Trust herself to Ferroll! the sport of every breeze, 
well-intentioned, idealistic, but fitful as the wind ! 
Contrast was inevitable. The memory of another 
dominance rushed back to her : a dominance which 
sheltered and upheld. 

One cannot enjoy unlimited irresponsibility without 
paying for it. Ferroll was to pay now when he 
offered his manhood to the only woman he had 
ever wanted for his own, and she found the gift 
worthless. 

“I am burdened with responsibilities,” said Mary. 
•T could only love some one who would help me to 
carry them: some one not only in whose loyalty I 
could trust, but who would want to help me, and to 
take care of me. It has never occurred to you or Mrs. 
Ellestree to think of me as a person who is tied with 
duties, and has an object of her own in life. I know 
I am of insignificant account as a woman : it is very 
good of you to have cared for me, but a heavy burden 
rests on me, and there is only me to carry it. I 
couldn’t contract any other tie which would hinder me 
in the performance of my duties, and besides . . . 
besides . . . oh, I want to be taken care of! I’m 
tired of carrying responsibilities! You only offer me 
another one.” 

, Ferroll had upheld woman’s right to an independent 
individuality. It was now his privilege to behold 
that right in practice. It must be confessed that 
the first sensation was not one of pleasure. It must 
be also told, however, that amazement sent him reeling 
into the regions of impersonality, whence he took 
a startled view of himself and Mary, and realised 
with astonishment that was not untouched by shame, 
that Mary’s, view was not inhuman, but a perfectly 
reasonable one. Ferroll’s was a very complex nature, 
responding in an extraordinary degree to his sur- 


CONFLICT 


272 

roundings. In Mary’s presence, he became just and 
rational, his quick brain saw more deeply than its 
wont: he was never vain, but his self-confidence drew 
into more normal limits. 

Mary had struck him hard: he met the blow with 
stunned amazement. Then as consciousness slowly 
travelled back to him, he found himself surveying the 
matter philosophically. 

Ferroll and Susan were curiously alike in the 
component parts of their being, only they responded 
to different notes. Ferroll’s emotion sounded easily: 
his philosophy lay deep. Susan had more control 
of her emotions : her philosophy was for daily use — 
her philosophy which a sudden trust had bankrupted. 
Ferroll’s withstood the onslaught. 

He had been petted into seeming weakness : the 
soul within was strong. Now that he realised the 
desire of his spiritual, as well as his emotional nature 
was to be withheld, he met the blow with singular 
sweetness. 

He stood up from the chair, and moved a pace or 
two away. His life passed in a review before him. 
He tried to consider it from Mary’s point of view, 
the citizen, with her stake firmly planted, her ideals 
plainly printed, and her ambitions definite. Regarded 
in that light, he must appear an aimless vagabond of 
no fixed course or tenure — unstable, worthless. 

And yet — there was the other side. He knew how 
to enjoy something finer than the merely sensuous 
side of life; he held a passport to most people’s 
souls, he felt the brotherhood of humanity. He 
passed from one calling to another with an open 
heart, giving and receiving. A vagabond perhaps, 
but one who had learnt the art of living. Circum- 
stances and temperament combined to separate him 
from Mary: but in that moment of supreme illumi- 
nation, Ferroll knew that a woman might be strong 
and pure, and yet find in him her complement. Only 


CONFLICT 


273 


she must come with him: he could never be locked 
up in one small round of interests, even for the woman 
whom he loved. 

Mary was right, he would fail her, he could be no 
help to her : but it was not that he was wanting, only 
that he swayed to another rhythm. 

He turned to her without a trace of bitterness. 

“You are quite right,” he said. “But you are right 
because you are not in love with me. It’s rather 
hard to explain, but if you had been in love, I could 
have taken care of you! As it is ... I see the sense 
of all you say. It’s funny how one may come so 
near to happiness and miss it. Sue and I have each 
met the one person who could have completed us 
and held us: and in each case, circumstances have 
stood round that person, and forbidden us to do more 
than come near and look . . . and realise. Well, 
don’t worry. How you worry! Do you know you 
have grown ten years older since I saw you. I can’t 
think now how I ever dreamed that I had only to 
put out my hand to take you. You are a woman 
wrapped up in your own life: and I am miles away 
. . . outside.” 

“Yes,” said Mary dully: she rose, something 
stopped utterance. She too had had a glimpse of 
heaven: a heaven that in its turn was barred by cir- 
cumstances. 

Something in her face sent a pang of jealousy, 
quick, living, pulsing through the man who watched 
her. Some instinct cried out the reason of her lack 
of response. She had shown no joy or pity; she had 
been positively uninterested. With Ferroll to guess 
was to speak. 

“There’s some one else!” 

Sharp, jealous, the question took her by surprise. 
She turned upon him breathless, ready to defend her 
secret ; and behold, it lay before him. 

“Who is it? Some one responsible and business- 

18 


274 


CONFLICT 


like? Who could it be? I know! The man who 
took you round to Rosalys. She told me he seemed 
to be a great friend ... to be looking after you. Tell 
me; you ought to tell me!” 

“There is nothing to tell.” 

“'You’re not in love with him?” 

Mary’s face betrayed her. 

“You’re engaged.” 

“No. No.” Outraged maidenhood spoke passion- 
ately. 

“But you’re going to be?” 

“Never. I can’t. He can’t. He’s Mr. Cuvier’s 
secretary. He can’t leave Mr. Cuvier. He owes 
everything to him!” 

“And you love each other?” 

“Oh, I don’t know !” The words came with a little 
sob. “I’m not free to think of such things.” 

“We can’t help feeling things, unfortunately. So 
you’re in love with some one else? I thought I was 
taking it standing: but this has bowled me over. 
Some one else ! One can see things reasonably enough, 
as long as it’s only circumstances that interfere. But 
some one else! You care for some one else. That’s 
so inexorable. One feels off the canvas. I’m paid 
out now for the way I’ve fooled with people. I’m 
ready to give up things to a woman, and she doesn’t 
want me. She wants some one else. There’s a grim 
humour about it, isn’t there? A horribly amusing 
justice . . . What an egotistic brute I am! There 
you are, prisoned in your manufactory, in love with 
a man who loves you, and is prisoned in Cuvier’s 
office. You poor little girl! And you have to fight 
it out alone. I say, try and forget my rotten selfish- 
ness. We were great friends once upon a time. I’d 
like you to feel I still am that.” 

“You’re very kind,” said Mary, with a foolish little 
catch. “Only . . . there’s no room for friendship. 
I mustn’t want friends. I’m back at business and I’ve 


CONFLICT 


375 


had my holiday. Oh, Ferroll, I don’t know why we’re 
put in the world. There’s such a lot of work to be 
done, and such a long time to be spent in doing it. I 
wish God had started us with a blessing instead of a 
curse!” Humour lurked in her despair: she and 
Ferroll looked at one another and felt odd kinship. 
Launched in the sea of life’s complexity, they could 
still survey it, hurt, but struggling to keep a foothold 
on their rafts of mastery. Drenched with the spray, 
bruised and stunned they could send a wintry smile at 
one another! 

“They’re interchangeable,” said Ferroll queerly. 
“Love, for instance ! Well, I’m glad we’ve had this 
talk ; we’ve straightened things out a bit. I say, why 
did you hide from me that evening ?” 

Mary coloured slowly, then her eyes met Ferroll’s. 

“I saw you kiss Rosalys.” 

“Good Heavens!” Ferroll glanced up at the 
ceiling with a despair that was half-real. “And you 
could never understand . . . could you . . . that it 
didn’t matter . . . not one iota? Yet you were jeal- 
ous !” His eyes gleamed with pure delight. “That’s 
something. Come ! Life’s not such an unrelieved per- 
formance. You minded?” 

“I was disgusted.” The speech came shortly. Mary 
was advancing to the door. 

Ferroll, adventurer and vagabond, barred the way. 
He put his hand on her shoulders, looking down at 
her. 

“You minded, Mary! Ah, be honest! It’s hard to 
give you up. I loved you more than you could 
possibly imagine ! Think ! I offered to give up my 
freedom, my golden glancing freedom. I would have 
laid it in your firm little hands to have and to hold, 
for better, for worse. I’m no great catch, but such as 
I am, I offered myself to you. Dear, it has been a 
pretty big blow to find you don’t want me. It’s the 
devil’s own bitterness to see the love in your eyes for 


CONFLICT 


276 

some one else. Take the sting out of it, Mary. Say 
you minded about Rosalys ! That there have been 
moments when I’ve called to you and your heart 
followed : and for the sake of the talks we’ve had, and 
the dreams we’ve dreamed, and the understanding — 
it has been understanding, hasn’t it? — and because I 
haven’t lied to you ... oh, Mary, look at me ! Let the 
look in your eyes be ‘yes.’ ” 

There were few women in the world who would 
have withstood the pleading tones, sad with untold 
bitterness, yet laughing through the sorrow with Pan’s 
own torturing enchantment : yet Mary raised her eyes, 
and they were grave and clear. 

“I have nothing to give you because there is nothing 
left to give. All my love ... all ... all of it 
. . . belongs to the some one else, and because I trust 
him, he must be able to look me in the eyes and 
know his trust is safe with me ... if we ever 
meet.” 

Ferroll’s grasp relaxed : he held open the door for 
her without a word. She ran down the stairs quickly ; 
for the first time she felt pity. The mother in her 
yearned to comfort the boy who had looked on her as 
Ferroll had. 

All the way to the train, the memory stayed with 
her. If Ferroll could have known it, he had never 
been so dear to her. Only . . . Cobb trusted her ! 

There are various ways in taking a defeat: there is 
despair : there is resignation : and there is a flashing 
splendid heroism. 

For the first time in his life, Fortune had closed 
the door on Ferroll ; he did not proceed to batter at 
it. For a moment his love was lifted above the 
craving of egotism: he wanted to do something 
wonderful : something that would be anguished and 
heroic. 

One of the mad deeds of abnegation which are a 
relief through the keenness of the pain they bring, 


CONFLICT 


277 

flashed into his head. He would go to the man whom 
Mary loved and bring him to her. 

A fool’s errand, but one which set the quick blood 
leaping in Ferroll’s impressionable heart. He longed 
to immolate himself : to take the loneliness from 
Mary’s eyes and see her happy. To place her with the 
man she trusted, and leave her for ever. 

Such thoughts were with him as he set his face 
towards Cuvier’s office. 

Cobb was in. In a few minutes Ferroll was ushered 
into his room, and almost before the office-boy de- 
parted, realised that he stood before a man with whom 
Mary would be ideally happy ! A man also with whom 
he would have never a thought in common to his dying 
day. 

It is difficult to walk into an office and begin an 
intimately personal conversation without a deeent 
overture of preliminary fact. Ferroll had an aptitude 
for arranging facts. He availed himself of his gift 
with graceful promptitude. 

“I believe you know Miss van Heyten?” 

Yes. Mr. Cobb did know Miss van Heyten. To 
judge from the quick glance he gave Ferroll, he was 
intensely interested in Miss van Heyten. 

Ferroll allowed his straw hat to revolve gently in 
his hand, and spoke with studied accuracy. 

“I am sure Miss van Heyten would wish Mr. 
Cuvier to know that we have heard from my sister, 
Mrs. Ellestree. So as I was passing I looked in. She 
is with her husband in America.” 

“America !” 

“Yes. It seems he sent for her to join him, quite 
unexpectedly. My sister has always longed to see 
America, and as the boat was leaving she decided to 
go straight off instead of being held up for another 
week. Of course Mary worried as she knew nothing 
of the telegram. My sister is very impulsive.” 
Ferroll smil&d in a paternally affectionate fashion. 


278 


CONFLICT 


Then his gaze encountered Cobb’s and his face 
stiffened. Cobb was looking down before him in the 
polite manner one assumes when one accepts a foolish 
statement through a regard for the other person’s 
feelings. 

Ferroll had to grip hold of himself to keep down 
his anger. He spoke abruptly. 

“You’re a friend of Miss van Heyten’s I 
believe . . 

“I hope so.” 

The two men levelled glances, mutually antagonistic. 
Ferroll’s soul was aching to hurt the stern young Stoic 
who — alas for Ferroll’s vanity! — had caused that look 
in Mary’s eyes. 

“Is Miss van Heyten in town?” 

“Yes. I’ve just left her at the station. She’s going 
back to Birmingham.” 

“Indeed . . .?” 

Cobb placed a pile of papers on one side with care. 
He was furiously jealous of this handsome, winning 
person who had taken his place with Mary; he 
distrusted his musical voice, his careless grace, the 
devil-may-care fire which lit his eyes ; most of all, he 
hated the semi-patronising air with which Ferroll 
spoke to him. Cobb was not an easy person to 
patronise. 

Ferroll felt and resented the ill-concealed enmity: 
had he not come on an errand of quite magnificent 
self-sacrifice? He felt he was rising to unexpected 
heights. His judgment told him this man would 
make Mary happy. His too facile instinct jumped to 
the conclusion that his and Mary’s pride stood in 
their way. Wherefore Ferroll obeyed the dramatic 
promptings of his temperament. He plunged abruptly. 
If he sat there much longer, Cobb’s attitude would 
make him too indignant to perform the act of immo- 
lation. 

“I’m worried about Miss van Heyten,” he said. 


CONFLICT 


279 


Cobb made no comment. Ferroll felt an insane 
irritation. Here he was, ready to hand over the woman 
he loved, and the dolt opposite sat like a graven 
image ! 

Ferroll took a short breath and spoke again. His 
speech had lost its usual self-possession. 

“The business is too big for a girl to manage by 
herself. She’s all alone ; she ought to have some one 
who can share her responsibility.” 

“Hasn’t she a solicitor?” Cobb’s voice was brutally 
sensible. 

Ferroll’s eyes gleamed. 

“I believe there is a person of the name of 
Humphry, a fat, smug, self-satisfied old devil whom 
you would call a business man,” said Ferroll with 
deadly quiet. “But women occasionally want human 
intercourse. It struck me Miss van Heyten did. It 
also struck me that she was unhappy. The idea 
occurred to me that she might have met some one up 
here in London. Knowing her — as I think — mis- 
placed idea of solidity, it struck me that she might 
be fretting for some one who was too big a fool to see 
his chance, or too pig-headed to take it. That’s only 
my idea, of course. I’m mentioning it, because if the 
lump of reliability who could manage such a business 
and take the cares off Miss van Heyten’s shoulders 
doesn’t see his opportunity and take it, I may go in 
and win myself. That’s all.” 

The two men sat for a moment glaring at each 
other. Cobb’s composure had vanished equally with 
his companion’s. When he spoke his voice was 
husky. 

“I pity any woman who depends on you.” 

- “So do I. That’s why I’m telling you.” 

Ferroll’s answers were generally disconcerting. 
Cobb stared, dumfounded. Ferroll pushed his chair 
back with a chafing motion. 

“If I didn’t know I’d make her wretched, d’you 


28 o 


CONFLICT 


think I’d be sitting here? If I didn’t know you’re 
the domestic, business type, d’you think I’d waste time 
piercing your thick head ? It’s because I care so much, 
I’m bothering. It’s not for you, you fool.” 

Ferroll’s passion had overstepped the bounds of 
candour. His hate of Cobb shot through his words. 
If at any time in the conversation Cobb had been fav- 
ourably affected by Ferroll’s frankness, the last speech 
effectually stopped the process. 

Cobb rose up with dignity. He resembled Cuvier 
in that moment. Ferroll, conscious of his folly, 
nervous, twitching with impatience, essayed to control 
himself. 

"Hang it all, you can’t expect me to like telling 
you.” 

Cobb lifted his erect young head, and looked over 
Ferroll in undisguised contempt. 

"I’d leave people to manage their own affairs if I 
were you,” said he, slowly. "I don’t know that this 
emotional business ever does any good to any one. Per- 
haps women like it. But don’t try it on with men. 
They won’t stand it. And as for Miss van Heyten . . .” 
He paused a moment, then spoke very slowly: "I 
don’t follow any girl till I’m in a position to look after 
her. And when I’m in that position it is for me to- 
decide. In the meantime, I’d leave Miss van Heyten 
to take care of herself, if I were you. She’s able to.” 

"Quite able to!” 

Ferroll’s face was livid. For a moment he felt like 
striking Cobb. Then a passion of mortification 
rushed over him. He had hurt Mary’s cause by his 
meddling. He had lowered her, offered her jealous 
secret to this dolt’s indifference. He spoke fiercely. 

"I may be mistaken. I’d give my life to see her 
happy. I believe that I could make her happy.” 

Cobb’s face changed. 

"That’s for you and her to say,” said he. "D’you 
mind if we don’t discuss this any further ?” 


CONFLICT 


281 


Somewhere behind them a door creaked; neither 
heard. The sound of battle was too loud in their 
ears. 

Ferroll stood in a frenzy of impotence, he knew he 
had roused Cobb’s jealousy, even distrust of Mary; 
knew too with what little cause. He made a desperate 
sally. 

“I’m not discussing anything. I came here to tell 
you she’s leading a hell of a life, struggling with that 
devil’s business down in Birmingham. I thought if 
you’d got a man’s heart in you, you’d go to her. 
Good God ! Do you think I’d have come idly ? For the 
sake of interference? Do you know she’s just refused 
me? I thought there was a blind chance that you 
didn’t know how she felt to you.” 

“Yes, I know. She knows how I feel to her. She 
knows also that I’m tied here. I can’t go to her. She 
knows I can’t. We don’t want any one’s advice or 
help. I don’t know how Miss van Heyten feels, but 
I regard it as impertinence.” 

“Thanks. That’s very generous of you.” 

“No. It’s not generous. I don’t feel generous. 
What d’you think I feel like ... to have you come 
and tell me that she’s struggling there against such 
odds ... I know the odds . . . and know that I can’t 
go! Worse! That I’ve to fight against her! You can’t 
do anything. No one can. As long as Mr. Cuvier’s 
alive, I serve him!” 

The door closed gently: Ferroll turned his 
head unconsciously. The door was opening with a 
rattle. 

“Hullo, Ferroll!” 

“Oh, you’re back.” 

“Yes, this moment. What are you doing here?” 

“I dropped in to impart the news my sister’s in 
America. Tom wired for her. So she went straight 
off, and never thought of writing till she got there. 
We’ve all been rather worried.” Ferroll took up his 


282 


CONFLICT 


hat. “I must be going. Good-bye, sir.” He hesitated : 
then turned to Cobb, “Good-bye.” 

“I’ll see you out.” 

Cobb accompanied him to the passage. 

“Good-bye ... it may have been decent of you to 
come . . . but . . . it’s no good . . . ever . . . 
interfering with other people’s business. If they can’t 
manage it themselves, they’re not worth helping.” 

With which cryptic remark he turned his back on 
Ferroll and returned into his office. 

Cuvier was still there. He was sitting at Cobb’s 
desk, glancing through the papers. 

“The report of the test is in. Miss van Heyten was 
quite right. The patent’s come out on top.” 

“I’m glad.” 

“Yes. Now we shall have to look alive.” 

“Yes, sir. By the way . . . Miss van Heyten 
called the day you went. She wanted your address . . . 
for Mrs. Ellestree. You told me not to give it to any 
one.” 

Cuvier looked at the boy, somewhat whimsically. 
Then he rose with a sheaf of papers collected in his 
hand: the characteristic smile hovered round the cor- 
ners of his mouth. 

“You’re a good watch-dog, Cobb,” said he. “Come 
and take some letters.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


“For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, 

The black minute’s at end.” 

Browning, Prospice. 

Birmingham does not strike the stranger favour- 
ably : its citizens see it in a glorifying mist of en- 
deavour and ideals. They regard it as the metropolis 
of the Midlands; and to those who tread them, its 
busy thoroughfares are paved with the gold of civic 
patriotism. To the cosmopolitan outsider, it appears 
a grey and strenuous city, hopelessly utilitarian and 
unbeautiful. 

Mr. Cuvier’s gaze rested on its principal street with 
cynical amusement. This bustling city with its narrow 
arteries had created Mary. She was a typical product. 

He passed down New Street with his easy sauntering 
stride, then turned into the by-street where the offices 
of Berryfield’s were situated. His eyes were screwed 
up in a little twinkle. The part of the benevolent good 
fairy was not over-familiar. Nor an easy one, to judge 
from the somewhat doubtful expression that en- 
tered into the twinkle as he waited in the outer 
office. 

Mary had no intimation of his coming. She was 
dictating letters when Mr. Cuvier’s card was brought. 
The clerk waited in the doorway till she had finished 
the letter she was engaged on. Her staff knew better 
than to disturb the “boss” when she was working out 
a train of thought. 

The letter finished, she gave a nod, and the clerk 
283 


284 


CONFLICT 


approached. She put down the card with a some- 
what heightened colour. Cuvier’s name brought many 
recollections with it. What could he want with her? 
She was interested and stimulated at the thought of 
seeing him. 

When Cuvier entered, she rose to meet him. He 
stood in her domain and she gave him welcome. She 
was no longer afraid of him. She did not even dis- 
approve of him; he had kept his word, and Mrs. 
Ellestree was saved. They met as combatants meet 
in an armistice, pausing from the struggle to shake 
hands. 

Cuvier realised this as much as Mary. He noted 
the change both in her demeanour and appearance. 
She seemed older but stronger. The intense anxiety 
was gone. Mary’s mission had been accomplished, 
and she was back in business with a straight road in 
front and the strength to travel it. 

Mrs. Ellestree’s influence bore visible results. The 
well-cut frock she wore, with its dainty appointments 
of spotless cuffs and collar and its big bow-tie gave 
her a demure appearance. Daintiness showed from 
her neatly-buckled shoes to her well-brushed hair ; and 
yet she was eminently business-like. 

As she resumed her seat behind the files of papers 
on the desk, Cuvier’s eyes rested on her appreciatively. 
Here was a girl one could talk sense to, who would 
not be hysterical or flippant, whose eyes met his with 
no embarrassment or provocation. He was not 
troubled with her sex, and yet he appreciated it. 

“So you’re back ! Work seems to suit you.” 

Mary nodded gravely: work did suit her. After 
the restless strain of the last months, office routine 
acted as a healthy anodyne. There was so much to 
do, she could hardly spare the time to think of her 
personal sorrows. 

For the first time she was tasting the joy of supreme 
power. The responsibilities of Berryfield’s had weighed 


CONFLICT 


285 

upon her : now that she was at the wheel and felt the 
big ship moving to her touch, her confidence had 
returned threefold. Sanders was gone: and as often 
happens, left no overwhelming blank behind. She 
could set Berrvfield’s in order : it would be a hard 
task, but she had both the strength and capability to 
achieve it. 

Wherefore the look of worry had disappeared : in 
its stead serious resolution had settled on the delicate 
features. The eyes that looked at Cuvier wore a com- 
forting serenity. 

“You have a cosy little room here.” Cuvier glanced 
round with lazy patronage. 

The “old Adam” in Mary was not entirely chastened. 
The recollection of her visit to Cuvier came back irre- 
sistibly. 

“I can give you five minutes, Mr. Cuvier. My 
time’s limited. You’re a business man and I imagine 
you haven’t come to Birmingham to pass remarks 
about my furniture.” 

Cuvier had sufficient sense of humour to appreciate 
the impudence; he was keen enough to discover in 
the minute following, that she meant what she was 
saying. 

A woman had told him she was busy and had asked 
him to state his case without preamble. A young 
woman, seated in her own office, the head of a business 
rivalling his own. 

Man is learning many useful if poignant lessons in 
this world of evolution. Cuvier’s first impulse was to 
be furious : his second showed him the justice of her 
attitude. The humour of the situation lay in his own 
dumbfounded attitude. 

Cuvier surveyed the girlish figure, composed, ra- 
tional, intelligent, and struck his colours promptly. 

“You’re quite right, I’ve come to talk about a lot 
of things, and I shall take up more than five minutes 
of your hard-worked time. Firstly, I’ve to tell you 


286 


CONFLICT 


that you were right about Reich’s process. The final 
test has been repeated with excellent results. It will 
sweep the market.” 

“Not for long. It’s the best process in existence, 
that’s all. It’s a new method I admit; but it can be 
developed. When I went through Sanders’ papers, I 
found he’d been negotiating with other chemists also. 
There are two or three working on Reich’s lines; I’ve 
secured all of them. There’s one exceptionally clever 
young fellow from the School of Mines whom I’m 
putting in charge of our laboratories. Your patent’s 
excellent at present, but the value of no patent lasts 
indefinitely, especially when it is followed up as we 
shall follow yours.” 

“I should like you for a partner, Miss van Heyten. 
You have a man’s pluck.” 

“I don’t find men particularly plucky. It’s a quality 
that is fairly equally distributed among humanity. Per- 
haps you haven’t the time to read history.” 

Mary put down the ruler she was playing with : 
she was getting weary of the masculine mind which 
made a corner of the virtues and allotted those to 
woman which would enable her to worship more com- 
pletely. 

Mary possessed the full average share of human 
intelligence : Convention might suppress it in a 
drawing-room, but in an office, she found intelligence, 
whether male or female, was of precisely the same 
value. 

After the long rest and change of thought, she had 
returned to work to find her faculties of organisation, 
her method, and her purpose of action keener than 
before: human experience had broadened her grasp 
of vision and power of control. The responsibilities 
she had had to shoulder, and had successfully fulfilled, 
had helped her courage. 

Above all, the sense of loneliness was gone. Though 
she never saw him again, she belonged to the man she 


CONFLICT 


287 

loved, as he belonged to her. They were in opposing 
forces; but they fought together. She knew he would 
take pride and joy in her success; just as she would 
glory in his accomplishment. Both loyal to their 
trust, they battled; but the bitterness had vanished. 
They fought for a mutual cause: loyalty. Feeling 
these things, Mary did not show the pleasure of a 
weakling who is patted on the back for showing any 
trace of stamina. She had courage ; she had strength ; 
she had capability. 

Admiration of these qualities, when it was accom- 
panied by astonishment that a woman could possess 
them, struck as an insult to her sex. Mary possessed 
indeed the quality of loyalty. 

Again Cuvier experienced the baffling sensation of 
having set out to show kindness to an inferior and 
finding himself confronted by an equal. He retorted 
somewhat inconsequently . . . 

“I hear you wanted Mrs. Ellestree’s address. ,, 

“Yes. Fortunately Mr. Cobb would not give it me. 
You see, he is stronger than I am.” 

Cuvier could not help thinking that any man would 
be lucky who could inspire the light that flashed from 
Mary’s eyes. Once on a time he had thought her hard : 
now he knew her to be only strong. 

“I am glad to see we agree on one point; not on 
Cobb’s superior strength, that I would scarcely grant ; 
his quality of strength may be slightly different from 
yours, but I would trust you as I trust Cobb. The 
point where we agree is in our appreciation of him.” 

“He ought to appreciate you.” Mary could be gej^ 
erous also. The look of gratitude she bestowed on 
Cuvier was very pretty. 

“I’m afraid he over-estimates what I have done: 
certainly, it is not worth the sacrifices which I learn 
he proposes making — a sacrifice which involves the 
happiness of some one else, some one for whom I 
believe I once said I had come to feel an unwilling 


288 


CONFLICT 


respect, and for whom at the present moment I am 
feeling a genuine friendship. That is why I have 
come here, if you think you can spare me say — ten 
minutes !” 

“Oh, please!” Mary’s weapons had fallen all 
together. Flushing, trembling, she lifted eyes in 
which no defiance lingered. She was in the presence 
of the man whom Cobb loved as he loved honour ; the 
man who had lifted him from miserable drudgery and 
given him companionship and a fitting place in the 
world. This man loved Cobb as she did, and would 
not take his sacrifice. 

“He surely didn’t tell you!” 

“My dear girl, he has not the faintest idea I know. 
I overheard a few words between him and an im- 
petuous young man to whom Cobb did not seem sym- 
pathetic. Mrs. Ellestree’s brother.” 

“Ferroll! What was he doing with Mr. Cobb?” 

“Trying to bring you together in the most hope- 
lessly inefficient manner I have ever witnessed. I am 
a believer in a man as an administrator, but I am 
forced to admit he sometimes shows a lack of tact. I 
stopped his efforts by making a quick entry, as I have 
a constitutional dislike to duels in my office.” 

“How dare he? Oh, what did he say?” Mary clasped 
her hands in anguished helplessness. 

Cuvier laughed outright. 

“Everything to justify your agitation. He was 
acting on the assumption that to be in love a man 
must be the slave of his emotions. He didn’t know 
Cobb as you and I know him. Knowing him as we 
do, we know the abstract duties come before his per- 
sonal desires, however strong they are. I think they 
are very strong.” 

“What have you come for, Mr. Cuvier ?” 

“To ask your help.” 

“Do you mean you want the rivalry between 
Cuvier’s and Berryfield’s to stop?” 


CONFLICT 289 

“No. I offered you a share in the patent. You 
refused me. You mustn’t refuse Cobb.” 

“Are you taking him into the firm ?” 

“No. I am putting him out of it — with a half- 
share of the patent as compensation for his services.” 

“He will never take it.” 

“Oh yes, he will. But he mustn’t know why I’m 
offering it. I shall put some one in his place and buy 
him out . . . I’ll find a good excuse . . . Cobb knows 
too much about my private life for me to care to 
keep him . . . something of that sort. He won’t be 
surprised. He’s used to seeing me turn off people 
when I’m done with them. Then you must be in 
difficulties and ask him to help you. He will be 
feeling sore with me. He will join you without a 
twinge of conscience. The only thing I ask is that 
for his sake — for both your sakes — you will never let 
him know.” 

“No!” 

Mary had risen. 

“I couldn’t lie to him. I couldn’t have a secret 
from him. I couldn’t build up everything upon 
deceit.” 

“You are very severe.” 

“Oh no ! D’you think I don’t appreciate your offer ? 
It’s most generous ! But it wouldn’t work. One can’t 
run straight unless one starts on an honest, open foot- 
ing. Mr. Cuvier, I don’t feel enmity to you. Why 
should we fight. Why couldn’t Cobb remain your 
partner? Why not ... ?” 

“Combine?” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s such an absurdly simple and sensible 
solution that I never should have imagined you’d 
have agreed to it. After all, think of the abuse 
you ...” 

“But this is business.” 

“I think Cobb will come to the Birmingham branch,” 

19 


290 CONFLICT 

Mary had the grace to blush : but her eyes still 
looked at Cuvier’s. 

“Yes; my place must be at Berryfield’s. I want 
you to tell Mr. Cobb everything. I want him to hear 
it from you. And then ... if he feels like . . . com- 
ing in ... ” 

“He’ll come in all right!” 

Cuvier put out his hand : Mary laid both hers in his 
impulsively. 

“I said some mean things, Mr. Cuvier : perhaps you 
haven’t had fair experience of women.” 

Cuvier looked down on the earnest little face, a 
troubled shadow lay across the frank grey eyes. 

“Perhaps not,” he said slowly. “They say people 
get what they ask. You get respect from us: and 
trust: and liking, too. It strikes me when we want 
the best from one another, we get it, men or women, 
I’ll make an admission too. I think you have the moral 
sense.” 

“Of course.” Mary’s brow wrinkled perplexedly. 

“I said no woman had it. I have always thought 
so.” 

Mary hesitated for a moment: she did not want to 
assume superiority, to trade upon her triumph. Yet 
the sense of loyalty drove her to champion her sex. 
She returned Cuvier’s gaze with her customary 
gravity. 

“Have you ever looked for it?” 

Cuvier was silent. Suddenly the memory of all 
that Woman had suffered with such patience through 
the centuries rushed over Mary in an overwhelming 
tide. Tier physical weakness which hindered bodily 
rebellion; the supremacy of her emotions which were 
at once her undoing, because of man’s misuse of 
what she had to give, and her strength, in helping her 
to endure and to forgive; her emotions which made 
her the prey of the sensualist, yet for the development 
of which her whole training was arranged ; her lack 


CONFLICT 


291 


of resource ; her mentality, her interests, all being 
forced into the one channel — the development of her 
womanhood from the purely sexual point of view. 
Morality was taught to her through chastity; that 
was the supreme virtue: unselfishness, forbearance 
and obedience the accompanying ideals which should 
deliver her wholly into man’s power when the law of 
marriage was complied with. Not independent self- 
respect, not the development of her spiritual and 
intellectual possibilities, not the sense of responsibility 
to, and kinship with, her fellow creatures — men and 
women. No. All her thoughts and energies must 
be concentrated on keeping her body pure, her self 
pleasing, her soul a blank slate on which man might 
write what he desired. 

What did he desire from her? Purity sometimes, 
for his epicurean refreshment. Obscenity often and 
often, for the satisfaction of his grossest instincts. 
It was held the worst sin of all sins if he degraded 
manhood: it was merely “natural instinct” if he 
degraded womanhood. 

And yet, how man’s ideals for himself strengthened 
and upheld him! Even while she shuddered from 
Cuvier’s .cynical belief in woman’s purpose, she 
realised his force of character. With men, with those 
he recognised as equals, he was just, honourable, 
ungrasping, worthy of their respect and trust. Why 
should he view woman as a different species, beneath 
consideration ? Her soul flamed within her. She spoke 
with terrible intensity. 

“Or wanted it? ... Or wanted it? ... Or when 
you saw a glimmer of it, tried to help it? Granting 
we are weaker, granting our sense of sex is stronger, 
is not yours the responsibility? We were made for 
your helpmate and companion, have you no responsi- 
bility towards us? Should you not help us? When 
we are trying after our ideals of self-respect and 
dignity and honourable independence, should you 


292 


CONFLICT 


not encourage us to try? Not hate our striving? Not 
beat us back with laughter? If you felt the responsi- 
bility the strong should feel to those dependent on 
them, should you not welcome our endeavour after 
your ideals; not say they are for you alone; that our 
ideals must be only those which make us more 
dependent on your strength, more obedient, more 
worshipping of your superiority.” 

A girl no longer spoke. Mary had passed through 
fire. A woman looked at the apotheosis of man’s 
strength and man’s brutality; a woman who realised 
at once the splendour and the meanness of such 
manhood, and pleaded passionately as if woman- 
hood surged behind her, helpless, trusting to her cham- 
pionship. 

The sense of justice in Cuvier realised, if not 
Mary’s entire point of view, something of it. He 
had not helped Susan Ellestree : instead, the 
achievement of her complete moral degradation had 
been his ambition. He had battled against the glim- 
mering of moral sense, fought for its extinction. Sud- 
denly he realised the unworthiness of the struggle, the 
shame of such a triumph. He felt, and, therefore, 
could say little. 

“Do you know, you’ve almost made me feel a sense 
of conscience.” 

“Oh, you could help us so much if you only wanted 
to. Woman gives men what they ask from her. Want 
great things: she will give them to you.” 

“Can she?” 

“I have given two men what they asked from me.” 

Mary spoke quite simply: there was no pride in 
the answer. Mr. Berryfield had expected her to 
uphold his trust: she had not failed him. Cobb had 
expected her to face renunciation bravely: she had 
done so. She had not yielded to Ferroll’s need: she 
had chosen another path: she had the right to do 
that. 


CONFLICT 


293 


Cuvier looking at the slight form and steadfast 
eyes, felt something nearer akin to reverence than 
had ever come into his mind before. Dimly he 
realised that there were potentialities in woman: 
that there was a spiritual companionship, as well as 
the companionship which is purely animal ; and that 
failing this, he had lost something worth having. 
More: he realised that if Susan Ellestree had been 
strong in her independence, her sense of responsibility 
towards her nobler self, she might have wakened 
something in him which would have satisfied her 
better than the mere gratification of her passion ever 
could have done : something that would have brought 
him finer and more lasting satisfaction also. That 
“something” had stirred in both of them, only they 
had shut their souls against it. It had stirred more 
actively in her and his hand had cruelly suppressed 
it, even though his judgment felt a secret respect for 
her struggle. It was that “something” which had 
embittered passion for them both ; which had irritated 
him even in his desire ; which had stabbed the woman’s 
heart and left it aching. 

If he had so helped her? She was worth helping. 
“/ am worth more than that ” 

Mary had wakened conscience. The process was 
destined to continue and to work out punishment. 
He had been given strength, and had used it as a 
coward uses it, taking unfair advantage of the help- 
lessness of those whom Nature and their training had 
placed at his mercy. Not an heroic battle: not a line 
of glorious victories. 

These thoughts were only seeded in his conscious- 
ness: at this moment he only felt a sense of respect 
for the girl who had faced him with such true courage. 
He looked at her curiously. 

“Who taught you all these things?” 

Mary flushed a little. 

“I don’t know,” said she. “Life, I think. I was 


294 


CONFLICT 


just thrown into the middle of it, and had to work 
things out. I never was taught anything till I met 
Mrs. Ellestree, and then . . .” She hesitated, then 
spoke slowly, “Then I learnt some things, but not 
the important things, only the fringe of them. I 
think the mistake is that the trivial things of life are 
considered the important ones for women; and the 
important things are only considered of importance 
for men. Whereas we are all human, we all have 
souls, and . . .” She paused, her brows deep knit. 
“And the moral sense, the same moral sense,” she 
said, “only our moral sense is obscured by your teach- 
ing.” 

Her eyes sought Cuvier’s, looking up at them, almost 
pitifully. 

He took her hands in his, and held them a moment 
very gently. 

“I’ve learnt important things to-day,” said he. “Miss 
van Hey ten, I’d like to feel you believe that I mean 
what I say. And look here . . . you mustn’t judge 
all men by me.” 

“Oh, no.” Mary released her hands with an 
unconscious sigh of thankfulness. “The men here 
aren’t like you. At least . . .” Even now she hesi- 
tated: then spoke wistfully, “But they’re all a little 
like you in their point of view. They’re not so brutal 
or so honest, so we don’t notice it so much; but you 
all start from the same point : you’ve gone further . . . 
much further.” 

“We’re men,” said Cuvier: the faintest tinge of a 
smile hovered near his mouth. “And some women 
like being women : on the whole, they accept the 
position with remarkable forbearance.” 

“Those whom you want,” said Mary. “It’s the 
others . . .” She stopped. Discussion was so hope- 
less. And there was work to be done . . . work, with 
the man she loved to help her. 

The tension of her mood relaxed. At least she 


CONFLICT 


295 


owed gratitude to Cuvier for his visit here. They 
were about to become allies. In business, she would 
find no fault with him. 

She drew a long breath and spoke more easily. 

.“Mr. Berryfield used to say, ‘When you’ve made a 
mistake, own it,’ ” she said simply. “We made a mis- 
take about you. Do you know what was Mr. Berry- 
field’s ambition, the ambition that he left to me. To 
overtake, usurp, and wipe out Cuvier’s as Cuvier’s. 
Well, it’s going to be Cuvier & Berryfield.” 

Then Cuvier was guilty of the only act of gallantry 
he had ever perpetrated in his life. 

“Berryfield & Cuvier,” said he. 

Yet as the train bore him up to London, the smile 
died from his face. Not only had Mary’s words 
struck home. He knew he should miss Cobb — miss 
him stupendously. The boy’s allegiance had given 
him a curious sense of raison d’etre. He was the 
only human being towards whom Cuvier had ever 
extended a tentacle of dependence and affection. Cobb 
knew his temperament, his tastes, his methods : the 
keen young brain worked on the same lines with his, 
only Cobb took care of all details. Yes : he would miss 
him. 

He lay back smoking: things passed in review be- 
fore him, then he stretched his hand out opening and 
shutting it, once, twice, thrice. 

“Each time one renounces, masters an emotion, 
breaks a tie, one gains something. Wherefore — fare- 
well Cobb!” 


CHAPTER XXV 

“ Who knows what’s best for us ? ” 

Browning. 

The swing-doors revolved unceasingly. Visitors 
passed in and out with monotonous regularity; they 
came up the stairs from the dining-rooms; down the 
stairs from the bedroms and private rooms ; back- 
wards and forwards from the restaurants and lounges, 
while the telephone room and inquiry office were two 
centres of commotion. 

An observer in a distant corner lounged on a 
settee in lazy enjoyment of the scene. It was good 
to be in London again, to feel the rhythmic beating 
of the city’s pulse, to rest for a moment floating in the 
human stream, part of it, yet quiescent. 

Ferroll had changed in the last five years. The 
impetuous currents of his youth were concentrating 
into steadier energy. As he lay back against the leather 
cushions, there was a quiet poise about his bearing 
which contrasted with his boyish figure. 

He watched the panorama of the hall ; the endless 
opening and shutting of the doors affected him 
hypnotically. 

Then, out of the dreamy haze, one figure detached 
itself. 

He rose to his feet with electric impetuosity. 

“Mary!” 

The woman he addressed turned, then with equal 
swiftness came towards him, her hands held out im- 
pulsively. 


296 


CONFLICT 


297 


“I should hardly have known you.” 

They sat back on the lounge. Ferroll’s gaze rested 
on her, puzzled, wholly admiring. 

Marriage had developed the girl into a woman. 
Her figure was rounder: there was a tender grace 
about her movements which gave her a new charm. 
Affection emanated from her. Yet the authoritative 
air was there. She had distinction. She carried her- 
self like a young queen, whose eyes were lit with love 
and pity. 

Ferroll moved along the settee with an irritable 
gesture. He hated the man who had given her so 
much. 

“So you’ve come to meet Susan too. I wondered 
if you would be here — why, what’s the matter?” 

“You’ve such a married look. Is your husband 
here?” 

“Yes. He’s with Mr. Cuvier. I had some shopping. 
We are only staying for three days.” 

“You’re still in Birmingham?” 

“Of course. We always shall be. Hayden’s stand- 
ing for the City Council.” 

Ferroll’s lips puckered whimsically. Mary met the 
look, half-laughing, half-defiant. 

“Ah, you must live in Birmingham to know it. 
Hayden’s as good a citizen as I am, now. We love 
our city. We can’t do too much for it.” 

“I think you’re splendid. You know I always 
did.” Ferroll’s voice was dangerously appreciative. 
Mary’s pale skin coloured, again her breath came 
quickly, again the old intoxication penetrated. Her 
eyes sought his, sure of sympathy. The words came 
with a sigh of happiness. 

“It’s so nice to find you’re just the same; not even 
married ?” 

“I shall never marry.” Ferroll’s tone was con- 
fident. 

“Oh, I hope not ! I like to think of you as a happy 


2g8 


CONFLICT 


wanderer, whose mission is just to live to inspire. You 
inspire still, don’t you? I can see it.” 

“Never mind me. Tell me about yourself. Are 
you quite happy, Mary?” 

“Yes ! Yes !” 

“As happy as that?” 

“Yes!” Yet she sighed. “Only when I see you the 
world expands so far. You always made me restless.” 
A shadow had crossed her face. 

“A noble discontent, though. You mustn’t get into 
a rut. Are you very 'married,’ Mary ?” 

“I'm very happy.” 

“Looking after him?” 

“I have two children; oh, Ferroll, they’re so won- 
derful.” 

“And has everything else gone? The business 
even ?” 

“No. We are partners! When I can’t go down, 
I feel as if a brother soldier’s going on with the battle, 
while I serve my part in looking after my babies and 
my house. But we talk over and consult each other 
about everything. It’s a success.” 

Mary smiled back with a nod. Ferroll lay, watch- 
ing her. His look was not wholly satisfied. 

“The glorious independence has departed,” he said 
at last. “You’re no longer the girl who held the ban- 
ner alone against the clamouring world.” 

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m one of a firm 
now, not an individual.” 

“And all your interests lie in four walls.” 

“And in the homes of twenty thousand work- 
people. D’you know we’ve founded a garden city 
for our employees? Why that’s an occupation and a 
purpose! And there’s so much city work that must 
be done. Our interests lie in Birmingham, but they’re 
not small or narrow !” 

Ferroll recognised an alien note of confidence; he 
was not speaking to Mary only; Hayden Cobb’s 


CONFLICT 


299 


assurance had infected her. She could not now be 
swayed as in the old days. Jealousy pricked at him. 
He switched the conversation brusquely. 

‘‘Have you heard much from Sue ?” 

“Not often. You saw her over there, three years 
ago. How was she? Happy?” 

Oh, I don t know. I think she and Tom get 
along a little better. Women take up a different 
position somehow in America. It’s in the atmosphere. 
They have to learn to manage without their husbands. 
She seems to have lots of friends. I wouldn’t say 
she’s happy, but she puts in a pretty good time; a 
fairly useless one ; I don’t know if these clubs do 
much good. She belongs to most of them, and reads 
a lot and talks more. Of course the women don’t 
count in public life. They have a funny imitation 
world of their own.” 

“Don’t, Ferroll. I hate to hear you talk like that. 
American women have changed the face of the world. 
They opened the door which had been shut since 
creation.” 

“You don’t mean to say you’ve any thought still 
for woman? Woman who hasn’t met her Hayden 
Cobb.” 

Mary flushed at the satire in his tone. 

“Of course I have. Because I’m happy, it doesn’t 
follow that I don’t pity . . .” 

“Pity! Pity! Oh, my God, what a getting up-stairs 
and trotting down again! Sue pitied the workers 
and unmarried. Now you’ve joined the ranks of the 
smug sisterhood. D’you mean to say you don’t 
know there are thousands of women who would cut 
their throats rather than be tied up for all their natural 
lives till death do part to a Pattern of Perfection.” 

“Don’t ! He’s not. But I love him.” Mary’s eyes 
were blazing. Ferroll laughed savagely. 

“Of course you do ; and so you have the cheek to 
pity those who aren’t so — what’s the term — so 


300 


CONFLICT 


fortunate. Lord ! The insolence of you married 
people. Mary, tell me honestly — we agreed we’d be 
honest — you must be honest — ! Honestly, do you 
never regret your freedom for one moment, never feel 
the leash, never hear the big world calling?” Ferroll 
had bent forward, his lithe graceful form flung along 
the settee. Mary’s face was turned away from him. 

“Tell me, Mary.” 

Passion-laden, infinitely stirring with its memories, 
its tumultuous suggestion, his voice woke up the 
wander-spirit which we bury in convention, so deep, 
so deep ; over which we stamp down I custom and 
erect hard tombstones of Reputation ; and yet, it is 
always there, secret but alive, infinitely, dangerously 
alive. Cuvier’s voice had woken it in Mrs. Ellestree; 
now, after years of happy marriage, Ferroll, for one 
instant made it move. 

Ferroll’s hand touched hers. 

“You have answered me! Oh, Mary, I’ve wondered 
often if we shouldn’t have chanced it. You would 
have helped me so. You’d have been so different. I 
hate that settled look of happiness that your face wore 
when you first spoke to me. It means stagnation. At 
least you’d have lived even if you’d suffered.” 

“What nonsense. We should never have been 
happy. You said yourself you couldn’t face being tied 
to me.” 

“Tied! Tied! No. But if we’d had the courage to 
strike out for ourselves, and live as we thought best 
for ourselves.” 

“We should have been doubly miserable. And what 
of Berryfield’s ?” 

“Hang Berryfield’s.” 

“It was my trust.” 

Mary’s hands were clasped upon her knee. The 
look of infinite resolution had come into her face. Fer- 
roll’s eyes saw and his conscience smote him. 

“I’m a beast. A beast! I can’t help experimenting. 


CONFLICT 


301 


No, it isn’t quite that. I respect you now as always, 
only it makes me angry to see how you can do without 
me, and how Cobb fills in the picture. It’s just rotten 
human jealousy. I want to make you miserable.” 

Ferroll pulled himself up, rising impetuously. He 
had rammed his hands into his pockets, he rested one 
knee on the couch, looking fiercely down at her. 

“You rouse the devil in me; and yet you make 
me strong. Send me away. Show me what a cad I 
am.” 

“No; no. You’re only . . . experimental!” 

Mary looked up at him divinely. A great maternal 
tenderness shone in her eyes. Ferroll realised anew 
her sweetness and her goodness. He stood looking 
down at her as at a lost paradise. She had gained so 
such in these last years. 

“Do you hate me for having . . . spoken like that?” 

Mary hesitated. 

“Honestly !” Humour was near the surface. Mary 
responded irresistibly. 

“No. You can’t help it. Oh, Ferroll ! I wouldn’t 
change for anything, but I understand your joy in 
being free.” 

“We could have been free . . . together, if you’d 
come with me! I’d have shown you the world; the 
world instead of Birmingham.” 

Ferroll had neared her. His eyes caught hers, held 
them intently, strenuous, defiant. Mary rose with a 
sudden movement. Upright, and finely moulded, she 
stood before him, in her eyes the glory of her soul. 

“I have a firmer grip upon the world than you,” 
said she. “I have learnt deeper things than you can 
ever know. I hold something which you can never 
touch. You are without ballast, and so can be tossed 
about over a vast expanse of sea. I see where I am 
going and know the safety of my anchor. To you, 
life is glorious uncertainty. My certainty is just as 
glorious.” 


302 


CONFLICT 


She turned her back upon him with a swift, decided 
movement. 

Ferroll watched her ascend the stairs; he realised 
that one may not grasp every thing. He had tasted 
all things, and his zest of life was fading with its 
novelty. Each year saw happiness more difficult of 
capture. 

He rose up and went out through the courtyard 
and into the crowded Strand. It was growing dark, 
and the lamps were flaming into brightness. The 
rumble of the omnibuses sang a chant of motion. 
The hurrying crowds tramped to a march of life. 
The busy city was doffing her robe of toil, and 
slipping imperceptibly into the veil of pleasure. The 
soft night air was full of whispers. The shadows 
throbbed mysteriously. Lights hung and flashed 
and flitted in sparkling intoxicating radiance. 

The night and London called to him. He threw 
back his head with the old gesture, the smile of 
the vagabond on his handsome face, the pulse of 
the wanderer beating through his heart. To be alive 
in London on a summer night without a tie to hold 
one, for that night spelt happiness ! 

“The veriest gambler I, 

Of all who cast the die. 

The years to-day 
I stake and play . . .” 

sang Ferroll underneath his breath, and went forth 
to seek adventure in the hours that he must spend 
before Sue and her husband could arrive. 

And meanwhile, in the shelter of her room, the girl 
who had chosen the orderly routine of life sat waiting 
for her husband, and thought of many things. For 
while life is a complex matter, it seemed to her that 
the same rules dominate, the same qualities stand 
for good and evil throughout humanity, queen or serf, 
prince or gipsy, man or woman. And the motive 


CONFLICT 


3°3 


power of the whole scheme is labour. She was in a 
very serious frame of mind when her husband put his 
hands upon her shoulders. She drew them round 
about her, resting her chin on them and looking 
thoughtfully into the fire. 

“Dreaming ?” 

“No. Thinking real things.” 

Cobb stooped down ad laid his face against hers. 
He had funny little boyish tricks. It was as if he 
found in Mary the woman’s love he had missed all 
through his life. They completed one another in a 
wonderful manner. 

“Ive just met Ferroll.” 

Cobb’s grasp relaxed. 

“Oh !” 

“It’s quite a gathering of the clans. It was good to 
see him again. He’s just the same. I’m coming to 
the conclusion some people ought to be irresponsible; 
they give so much pleasure by being themselves.” 

Cobb straightened up and crossed to the mantel- 
piece. He had realised Ferroll’s fascination in their 
one short interview. 

Mary looked up questioningly, and saw her hus- 
band’s darkened eyes and laughed out. tenderly, yet 
with a radiant joy. 

“I do love to see you human.” 

She bent forward, propping her chin on one hand, 
the fire light lit up her face ; her grey eyes were danc- 
ing, a delicious smile lurked in the dimpled cheeks. 
Responsibility had been lifted from her shoulders, and 
she might breathe naturally and happily, joying in the 
simple things of life. 

Cobb suddenly dropped on his knees before her, 
holding her in a grip that almost hurt. They were 
both astonishingly young, here in the quiet fire-light, 
alone in their own room. Love was so fresh to them. 

“Oh, Mary I can’t bear to think any man could 
love you but myself. Tell me you don’t care one little 


304 


CONFLICT 


bit. Tell me you’re not sorry; that you don’t want 
any one or any thing but me.” 

Mary drew a deep breath of divine contentment. 

“No one,” said she. “Can’t you understand that 
seeing Ferroll has made me even happier, if it were 
possible. He doesn’t touch me now. Every inch 
of me is yours ; I’m so proud that you are strong. I 
love to feel your strength, and yet — oh, my husband 
— it’s so nice to see you caring. I like you to be 
jealous, not really jealous. You couldn’t be, because 
you know I’m yours. But it’s beautiful to feel you 
want me to be yours just as intensely as if I wasn’t, 
wholly. D’you understand ?” 

Cobb nodded. He held her tight. 

“You and my babies,” said Mary, her clear eyes 
full of love. “And my babies because they are 
you!” 

“Yes. They’re safe hostages,” said Cobb. “By 
the bye, that reminds me. The boat train’s coming in 
to-night instead of the morning. I came to tell you so.” 

“Hayden! YoU don’t mean she’ll be here to- 
night ?” 

“If they get off by it ; they ought to be in now.” 

Mary jumped to her feet. 

“And we’ve been loitering here !” 

Cobb put his arms around her. 

“Steady on! I’m not going to spare you even for 
Mrs. Ellestree. How dare you call it ‘loitering’ when 
. . . I . . . wanted . . . you.” 

Mary emerged, flushed, laughing, wholly happy. 

“It is perfectly ridiculous,” said she. “When shall 
we stop being everything to each other? Even the 
babies . . . oh, my babies ! They are everything too.” 

“Bless them,” said Cobb. He tucked his arm in 
Mary’s in a Comfortable comradey fashion, as they 
moved towards the door. The corridor was dimly lit ; 
they walked down it, linked together, two happy young 
people in perfect understanding. 


CONFLICT 


305 


A bell-boy stopped them. He held a pencilled note 
from Susan. She had come; and was waiting in her 
sitting-room. 

“Let me go myself — just at first.” 

Cobb nodded. 

Yet, though Mary hurried to the room, she paused 
outside. Memory sang loud of the last time when they 
had met. She pushed open the door nervously. 

“Mary dear!” 

Mrs. Ellestree came towards her with the old ma- 
cternal air. In that first moment she did not seem to 
have changed at all. Yet, as Mary stood back and 
looked at her, she was conscious of a certain unfa- 
miliarity. The air of superiority did not sit so well 
upon this woman. She assumed it with insistence; it 
did not ring true. 

Was it she who had changed, or Mary? 

“How you’ve altered, Mary.” Mrs. Ellestree voiced 
her thought. 

Mary’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Have I ?” 

“Yes, indeed. You’ve become a woman, and a 
charming one. I always told you you had possibilities. 
What a blessing I discovered them. You must never 
forget I made you what you are.” 

“No.” 

“How forlorn and inexperienced you were when you 
first came to me !” 

“Yes.” 

“Is that all you have to say to me? No and 
yes ?” 

Mary met the woman’s eyes. Suddenly the 
tragedy of Mrs. Ellestree’s assumption of authority 
struck to her heart. Susan was still holding the world 
back, still grasping at externals, still insisting on her 
wisdom. 

She stood no longer on the pedestal. Mary’s clear 
eyes saw her as she was: yet with the vision came 
a wealth of pity. Susan had staked all for man: 

20 


3°6 


CONFLICT 


and lost. Lost as truly as if she had been one of the 
withered spinsters whom she mocked at. While Mary 
had hazarded no tittle of her soul, and man’s trust 
and devotion both were hers. 

Pitifully Mary stooped from her security. 

“Oh, no. Only so many things have happened. I 
feel old. And you haven’t changed one bit.” 

“Haven’t I ?” Susan Ellestree’s lips broke into an 
involuntary smile. She cast a glance at the glass in 
conscious vanity. Her vanity was conscious now. 
“No, I suppose I haven’t. Every one says how well 
and young I’m looking. America suits me. I’m a 
great success there. I love America. The men are 
so chivalrous. You can scarcely see my rooms for 
flowers. It’s so funny to come back to our old- 
fashioned England.” 

“Are you going to stay long?” 

“Only for a month or so. Tom can’t be spared. 
He’s frightfully important there. ‘Mrs. Thomas 
Ellestree’ is quite a personage. I always ought to 
have been a personage, you know. My metier is the 
personal.” 

Had she ever worshipped at this pinchbeck shrine. 
Mary felt a sickening at its triviality. To live for 
admiration, posing to an eternal gallery. Her soul 
revolted: but her heart ached. The admiration did 
not satisfy. She read that in fact in the hungry 
eyes. 

“I am glad you are happy.” 

Mrs. Ellestree lit a cigarette, and sank down on 
the sofa, a whirl of velvet and of sable. She was sump- 
tuously clothed. Mary noticed a hundred evidences 
of luxury. 

“Oh, yes. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. It’s 
pleasant to feel that one’s a success as a woman. You 
don’t agree with me, I know, but men do. How are 
you getting on? I’ve never asked after you or your 
husband. I must see him.” 


CONFLICT 


307 


“Yes. He wants to see you.” 

.Mrs. Ellestree leant back with a graceful, if con- 
scious twist of her still supple figure. 

“You’re happy, dear, I hope?” 

Happy ! How could Mary voice her happiness ? 
Husband and babies, the comradeship, the wealth of 
love and understanding were too sacred to be talked 
about. 

“Yes, I’m happy.” 

“I hope you’ve given up that wretched business.” 

“Not altogether.” 

“I must talk to your husband. I’m sure he’ll be on 
my side. Wifehood is quite sufficient occupation for 
any woman. You will have to come to see that.” 

Talk to Cobb about her failings! Suddenly a 
light lit Mary’s eyes, so tender and so humorous that 
Mrs. Ellestree, seeing, felt a stab. The look was gone 
in a moment. Mary had risen. She stood before the 
other woman, looking at her with new-born tolerance 
and affection. 

“We understand each other,” she said gravely. 
“When you see him, you’ll see that it’s all right. I’ll 
go and find him.” 

“Mary!” 

The woman had cried out as she was about to cross 
the threshold. She turned to meet Mrs. Ellestree’s 
eyes, appealing. 

“You love me still?” 

Mary hesitated : then yielded. 

“Oh, yes,” said she. “My dear ... my dear . . .” 

Mrs. Elletree put her arms about her, as in the old 
days. Then Mary released herself. 

“I’ll bring my husband,” she said, and was gone. 

Susan leaned her elbows on the mantelpiece, and 
looked at herself. The serene air had vanished with 
Mary’s withdrawal. She held the mask up, her pride 
demanded that : but within, her heart ached tragically. 

She read happiness in Mary’s eyes: infinite cer- 


308 


CONFLICT 


tainty and trust. While she . . . she had grown more 
material arid knew it. Romance had poetised her na- 
ture: with the loss of Cuvier romance had died, and 
hope with it. 

Well, the externals of life were hers. She gained 
a certain satisfaction out of them. She was a social 
success : her gowns were copied : her gracious charm 
admired. Men hovered round her. She had grown 
even more skilful in the arts of flattery and manage- 
ment. And in America Tom’s pre-occupation with his 
business was taken for granted. Oh, yes, life was 
easier for a woman in America. She was thankful she 
was returning. 

The door opened: she summoned up the mask of 
urbane serenity and turned — to drop it forthwith. 

Ferroll had entered. Ah, feeling had not died. 
Susan Ellestree’s heart went out to the little brother 
with the old passionate mother-love. Brother and sis- 
ter, that relationship would last for ever. 

“Well, you’re back again.” 

“Yes. It’s all so strange. Everything’s altered so: 
my place has gone.” 

“Not with me.” 

“You dear old thing! No. You’re some one to 
cling on to still : but you’re the last. Every one else 
has grown up. I’ve just seen Mary.” 

“Oh, is that it? Yes. She’s married, isn’t she? As 
a matter of fact, her husband is a fine fellow. I hate 
him . . . but still ... I can’t help feeling what he 
means to her: and she sees clear. Too clear.” 

“You were never serious?” 

Ferroll was silent: then he nodded. 

“Yes. I got turned down, good and hard. It’s all 
right, I’ve got over it. Hearts don’t break, these stren- 
uous days?” 

“Don’t they?” 

Ferroll looked at her. 

“Why, Sue . . . ” 


CONFLICT 


309 


“I can never forgive her, Ferroll . . . never . . . ” 
She clenched her hand with a sudden breaking of re- 
serve. “Oh, when I saw her all the bitterness came 
back. She is worse than she was then : more sure : 
more righteous. She dares to pity me : to be kind to 
me: just as she did then. And when I look at her. 
and think what she took from me . . . ” 

“Hush, hush! Susan! You can’t regret ...” 

“Oh, you don’t understand. It was the way that 
I was saved. If I had given him up myself, I should 
have learnt acceptance. I should have been — not a 
happy — but a better woman. But I was giving my- 
self to him because he needed me . . . God knows, 
it wasn’t the material side of me that he called to . . . 
I would have borne humilation ... I would have 
starved ... I would have suffered gladly. Well, I 
was caught up and put back into safety. Put back 
into my old life, with its meannesses and flash-pots. 
Put back, to stagnate, to sink down to the vicious 
comforts and materialism of respectability. The flesh- 
pots have grown dear to me, because they’re all I 
have to live for. They mean so much now that I 
couldn’t give them up: but I could have turned my 
back upon them. Oh, Ferroll, I should have suffered, 
I know that: but suffering might have purified me. 
Now . . .” 

“Yes. You ought to have pulled yourself out. If 
she could have helped you to do that.” 

“If . . . but she bought me from him. She killed 
my self-respect. Thank God, I’m going back, away 
from here. Three thousand miles will be between me 
. . . and the past.” 

Ferroll was standing with his back towards his sis- 
ter, looking down into the fire. He spoke deliberately. 

“Sue. Does it ever strike you that we wanted the 
wrong things from life ?” 

“I only wanted very simple things : the human hap- 
piness that ought to come to every woman.” 


3io 


CONFLICT 


“You didn’t want children.” 

“My dear, how could we ... in that flat!” 

“That’s it. You wouldn’t make sacrifices. You 
wanted a life of pleasure . . . London . . . luxury 
. . . interest . . . excitement . . . you couldn’t have 
had children . . . and a French dressmaker and face- 
doctor ...” 

“I would have borne Cuvier children if I had 
starved with them . . .” 

“Yes. You’d have brought his children into the 
world without a thought as to their chances of happi- 
ness, poor little brats. Oh, Sue, don’t you see it’s all 
been self? You’ve refused to obey the laws.” 

“What do you mean by laws ? Man - made 
conventions.” 

“No. The eternal laws: the great impersonalities 
that we have to abide by or be crushed by. Duty, re- 
sponsibility, self-abnegation . . . Do you remember 
what Margaret Deland says? ‘When personal happi- 
ness conflicts with any great human ideal, the right 
to claim such happiness is as nothing compared with 
the privilege of resigning it.’ I’ve never forgotten 
that sentence. If Mary and Cobb had never been al- 
lowed to come together, they would have been happier 
in standing by their responsibilities than if they’d 
thrown them over for each other’s sake. You said 
yourself, if you had struggled and sent Cuvier away, 
you would have stood on a higher plane to-day.” 

“Or if I had gone to him?” 

“No. He didn’t want your soul. You knew that. 
Your better nature held out against your desire. You 
yielded to self when you yielded to his power.” 

Mrs. Ellestree gulped back something like a sob. 

“There’s something in what you say,” she ad- 
mitted, then suddenly stretched out her hand. 
“Oh, Ferroll, I’m an unhappy woman. These things 
don’t satisfy. But I suppose it’s no good now. I’m 
too egotistic to begin to try. The stars are almost 


CONFLICT 


3ii 

out of sight. I can scarcely see them : much less, how 
to climb.” 

“One can always begin again: that’s the glorious 
part of life. As long as one wants to be any better, 
possibilities open and open like the enchanted doors 
of the fairy-tales you used to tell me.” 

“It wasn’t only self in those days.” 

“No . . . no . . . and I know that. That’s why I 
believe still.” 

“I can only be helped by belief. I wish you were 
coming back with us.” 

Ferroll paused a moment: then he lifted his head 
determinedly. 

“I believe I’ll come. I ought to come. Good 
Heavens . . . after all you’ve done for me . . . 
Count on me, Sue. You can now. I’ve learnt things 
too. We’ll start afresh . . . together.” 

“I wonder . . . will it be any good?” 

Mrs. Ellestree leant her head back wearily. 

“It’s always good to try,” said Ferroll. There was 
a curious light in his eyes. He stood with lifted face, 
looking outward. 

“Endless growth,” he said, “growth from the slough 
of our dead selves. Growth to the clanging of the 
drums of courage. Growth, with eternity before us, 
to struggle on, and fall, and pick ourselves up, chang « 
ing always. Come along, Sue. You’ve heaps of pluck. 
Plunge in again!” 

Mrs. Ellestree threw her cigarette away. 

“And as a beginning?” 

Ferroll laughed; then took her arm and pulled her 
up, energetically. 

“Well,” said he, “let’s start with dining.” 


THE END 



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